


Cochlea's Janitor

by CheshireKat5mile



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst and Romance, Assault, Blood and Gore, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I'll update the tags as I go, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mentions of Suicide, Non-Explicit Sex, Slow Burn, Time Skips, Torture, Violence, do i need more or less tags?, just a woman trying to get by, just trying to be thorough, new to tagging please be patient, the worst crime of all: cursing, there's ghouls so expect humans getting eaten, yamori being himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 121,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireKat5mile/pseuds/CheshireKat5mile
Summary: Kohana Nao only wanted to make enough money to pay off some debts, now she is the new janitor of the infamous ghoul prison, Cochlea: a possible lamb led to slaughter. While there, she has the unfortunate pleasure of meeting the future "Jason of the 13th Ward": Yakumo "Yamori" Oomori when he is caught and sent to Cochlea. Following a horrific event, Nao must continue to clear her family's debt to 0 all while dealing with a ghoul even the Investigators are loathe to encounter.
Relationships: Oomori "Yamori" Yakumo/Original Character(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 60





	1. Imprisonment

**Author's Note:**

> My home will always be Fanfiction.net. That being said, I'll be posting this and future stories on both sites. Also I should clarify: |13| signifies page breaks/time passing between events.

Janitor, custodian, even caretaker if one wanted to get fancy with the term, all-in-all it wasn’t the greatest job by far, but for her it was favorable over the few she had had to interview for—one of which involved leading small animals to slaughter. That said, in spite of the decent pay and the few benefits it came with, the risk did not justify the means. But then again, she was desperate, and with her current level of skill: nearly no work experience, the best she could get was this high risk, low reward job. Nao wasn’t even aware Cochlea had janitors given the fact that it was a prison for ghouls and cleanliness didn’t seem high on the guards’ list of priorities.

Nao thought about how—given the fact that there was an opening—the previous custodian may have been devoured by one of the inmates. The thought sent a shudder down her spine before she tried to comfort herself with the idea that her predecessor may have quit or transferred to one of the CCG buildings in the area. Though given the guards jeers each time her scrawny form passed by, and the bets made behind her back, the idea slowly slipped away.

‘It was a man’s job,’ they told her. ‘You don’t have what it takes to work here,’ was what one of the investigators said during the initial interview. She knew that in a situation such as this, one would normally say, “How can you tell by first glance? Put me to work and judge how well I do then!” If she had a stronger backbone she would have said just that, but she was meek and hardly spoke aside from voicing her opinions when it mattered.

“True, but I’m hard-working, desperate, and I doubt you’ll find anyone else willing to work for what you’re offering in exchange.” Her backbone wasn’t made of short, to-the-point demands; it was made of thought-out quips pointing out the obvious. As far as cleaning floors and bathrooms went the job gave meager yet adequate pay and a sizable compensation should any part of her get eaten. Still, most people would rather look for another job than live without an arm or a leg and because of this they hired her before the week let out.

At first Nao was glad to simply just have the job, but as the weeks wore on the small feeling of elation wore off, and a ball of stress began to form in her stomach as she took care to keep her distance from the cells. The ball of stress gave way to a bout of fear less than a month in when one of the Interrogators called her to his room to “clean up a mess”. As she followed the man to the interrogation room, she fought to remember who he was, taking in his near middle-aged profile as she dragged a mop and a bucket of simple hot water—as per his request—with her. She knew nearly nothing about the people she worked with and spent very little time learning who everyone was. The one thing she remembered about this man was that he was an Interrogator that most of the guards avoided.

She hadn’t wondered why until he opened the door and led her inside.

For the record, pools of blood and a heavily mutilated corpse did not define as a “mess” in her book. The smell alone made her want to vomit, but she refrained from doing so in the interest of not creating another mess to clean up. “Wha—Wha—” she’d panted, stumbling back against the wall and dropping the bucket as her hand flew to her mouth to cover her shock, the water splashing over the rim and mixing with the splatters of blood that had managed to fly to where she stood five feet from the body. Fear consumed her as she wondered if he’d go after her the same way he had gone after the corpse sitting in the middle of the room.

“Clean it up. Someone will come for the body later,” he said in a gruff voice, leaving her alone in the room with the body and offering no words of explanation beyond this simple command, the door slamming shut behind him and bathing the room in meager darkness and dim fluorescent lighting. It took her more than twenty minutes to compose herself and a further hour to clean the copious amounts of browning blood from the floor, staining the water in the bucket a translucent red. True to the Interrogator’s word someone came in as she was working on cleaning the blood from underneath the chair and retrieved the body. She suspected they were from the morgue and were going to extract its kakuhou before storing the body somewhere beneath the facility. Although she had been curious some time ago about the process she no longer cared to know if this brutality was part of it.

While she had been cleaning she had looked over the mangled corpse of the (probably once powerful) ghoul. Despite what it was, the things that had been inflicted on it looked too cruel to be allowed. Sections of its flesh had been removed in strips and nails had been embedded in its muscle. Deep knife wounds—healed and freshly cut—marred its barely recognizable face and littered its body. Holes were drilled indiscriminately and looked as deep as the bone (if not farther) and its Achilles tendon had been severed several times on each ankle. Worse still was the tender looking pink flesh covering its toes and fingers, scars from where it had been severed and grown repeatedly appearing as a pale, jagged ring around each individual digit.

The ghoul might not have been human, but that didn’t mean the Interrogator was one either if he inflicted this kind of torture.

From that point on she kept her distance from that room and its main occupant and dreaded each time she was called. At first she thought that the worst thing she would find in that room was a freshly-killed body, but when she was called in a week later and found a grown male ghoul whimpering in the chair—its toes freshly severed and a large chunk of flesh missing from its side—she decided that was the worst thing she had seen. It was one thing to see a corpse; it was another thing entirely to see one in the making.

And so it went on. Week after week, month after month she cleaned the bathrooms, mopped the floors, wiped the few windows in the establishment, and—while the ghouls were out enjoying one of their few liberties: minimal exercise—she cleaned out the cells one by one. At least a few times a week (if not more) she was called into the interrogation room to mop up the pools of blood that seemed to accumulate endlessly from the groaning bodies. Never did she speak to the victims, and the few times she did she received no reply beyond their continued anguished mutterings. Often the ghouls pled blindly for help, for mercy or, more often than not, they mumbled nonsensical numbers. When she paid closer attention to their mutterings after a few weeks she noticed they always muttered large numbers that seemed to descend. She didn’t know why they did it—maybe to stay sane?—but she guessed it was something the Interrogator had them do.

The routine didn’t change and she didn’t ask questions—mainly out of fear that she would receive the same treatment as the ghouls—she simply continued in this way with pity in her eyes each time she entered that room of horrors. _It’s just for a year,_ she told herself as she moped up the blood around its feet. _Just one year and then I can quit._ But simply because she was counting down the clock didn’t make time go by faster or the circumstances any less unpleasant. More so even as—one day after half a year of this routine—she found herself face-to-face with a large, unmarred ghoul who stared at her with blatant hatred in its red out-of-focus eyes—a clear sign it had been pumped with RC suppressants and hated every minute of it.

“Uh…s-sir, did I come too early?” Nao asked the Interrogator hesitantly, dragging her eyes from the large ghoul seated in front of her to the man beside him who held a mean sneer on his face that seemed to form into a twisted smile after a moment. He slid his thumb over his forefinger and pressed it down towards his palm, a loud _crack_ bouncing off the walls of the musty, blood soaked room as he told her to stay. She bit her lip and debated leaving him to continue his interrogation by himself, but because the order came from a superior she did as was told and closed the door behind her, leaning the mop against the wall and dropping the heavy bucket on the floor. She folded her arms across her stomach and stood rigidly in front of the door, fear etched onto her face as she watched the Interrogator with apprehension. She’d never seen an interrogation in person before, and given that this was a ghoul she suspected it wouldn’t be like the ones she’d seen on TV—the blood she’d had to mop out every week and the various injuries she’d seen on all the bodies before helped with that fact.

Maybe it was necessary. Ghouls were tough so it must take a lot of work to extract information from them. But then she thought about the all the dead bodies she had come upon up to this point and the mutterings of their slow descent into madness and a knot started to form in her belly. She was about to watch the process first-hand. She suspected it would start out with a question about whatever the CCG wanted to know from it and lead from there with…torture.

Or at least that’s how she thought it would go until, from a table standing beside the him, the Interrogator picked up a large pair of pliers, knelt down in front of the ghoul and started on the torture immediately; no questions, no inquires and no rhyme or reason as far as she could tell. The ghoul made muffled grunts of pain as its toes were snipped off almost methodically, a light _squelch_ sound preceding each cut before it was followed by a sharp _snap_ and a grunt of pain. The process reminded her of a much more innocent time when her mother used culinary scissors to snip chicken wings for dinner. Now that memory was tainted by this brutal act.

Soon after the first foot was devoid of its toes she discovered the reason why all the victims before mumbled numbers incoherently as the Interrogator commanded the ghoul to count down from one thousand by sevens; only the act’s purpose escaped her. The ghoul resisted doing so as the Interrogator continued on the other foot, its head bent as it clenched its teeth together in a small attempt to muffle its grunts of pain as they escaped its throat, its leg twitching as it slowly bled onto the checkered floor.

When all ten toes were removed, the Interrogator stood and cracked his forefinger again. A small laugh escaped his throat, like he was amused, and he said again, “What’s one thousand minus seven?” It was then that Nao discovered why the other guards spent little time around him, why the ghouls up until now were so brutally mutilated.

 _He’s enjoying this…? He’s a sadist. No, he’s a psychopath! This guys a freaking psychopath!_ She thought, unfolding her arms and nervously twisting her fingers around themselves as she withdrew a step, her back pressed against the door as the handle dug into her spine. In front of her the ghoul glared up at him, unclenching its jaw as still it refused to speak.

The pliers snapped with a _clack_ as the Interrogator walked back to the table and set them down, trading them for a butcher’s knife that seemed to Nao to either be rusted or stained with dried blood. She didn’t know what the Interrogator intended to do with the knife—to either carve out a chunk of flesh or to sever the ghouls tendons—but as he raised the knife above his head, its sharp tip glinting dully in the low light before he brought it down upon the ghoul, Nao had a moment of panic and exclaimed, in a trembling voice, “S-sir!”. The young woman immediately bit her tongue as the Interrogator halted the knife’s downward descent before it made contact with the ghouls upper thigh and turned his face a bit to look at her, his features hidden in shadow and making it difficult to discern what mood he was in. the ghoul itself looked at her with gritted teeth and a hostile expression, like it was mad she had interrupted its supposed interrogation session. Nevertheless she gathered up courage and voiced the reason behind her outburst.

“U-uh…I uh…shouldn’t you be, um, asking it…questions? About um…what it knows?” It was a reasonable question that sounded pathetic in her ears as the Interrogator dropped the knife by his side, turned around to face her, and—in three long strides—crossed the room to stand before her. She was sure to be reprimanded for her insolence but she wasn’t sure of the extant until the Interrogator had grabbed a fistful of her dark brown hair in his free hand and shoved her head back against the door, the handle now pressing painfully against her tailbone as the Interrogator brought the knife up to rest lightly against her bare throat. The blood on the blade was now more obvious to her as the old metallic smell wafted past her nose.

“Don’t interrupt,” the Interrogator commanded in a stern voice as she fought to keep herself from pissing her coveralls. It was enough to be threatened by a psychopath; she didn’t need to embarrass herself in front of him and the ghoul, too.

“Y-Y-Y-Yes, s-s-sir,” she stammered as she fought to keep herself from crying as well, doing little in way of keeping her fear out of her voice. The Interrogator said nothing else to her as he removed the knife and released her hair. Her weak knees buckled under her weight and she slid to the floor, watching with wide eyes as the Interrogator turned his back on her and went back to the ghoul. For a split second her eyes locked with the ruby reds of the panting ghoul and what she saw irked her greatly. Beneath its frayed black hair it looked at her contemptuously before it flicked its hateful glare to the Interrogator as he neared.

Nao watched as the blade ascended once more before it plunged into the thick, muscular thigh of the ghoul. It threw its head back, its teeth once more clenched tightly though she could hear no sounds it made as she quickly covered her ears against its anguished cries. Her eyes remained open to its torment, though she saw nothing as she wished the interrogation to end quickly—not for the ghoul’s sake, but for her own. As the interrogation dragged on the hot water in the bucket beside her cooled off, thin coils of steam evaporating as the minutes ticked—agonizingly slow—by.

Nao was knocked back into her senses as the Interrogator set down a sliver of indescribable metal and turned his back on the—now silent—ghoul as it sat hunched over in the chair, blood running down its face and body from short, jagged slits. For a moment she thought the man had killed it, but a second later the ghoul sputtered and hacked fresh blood from its lips. Despite the glare it had sent her before, she felt a sense of pity, pity that it hadn’t died.

The Interrogator crossed over to the door and waited patiently—for some eerie reason—for her to move from where she sat against it. She scrambled onto her hands and knees and scuttled away as he opened the door, pausing once in the doorway to give her one single order. “Clean it up.”

She looked back up at him over her shoulder and asked timidly, “Righ—Right now…?” It was a stupid question, she knew, but she felt the need to ask anyway. She didn’t get an answer as he took another step outside and swung the door shut, its resounding slam bouncing over the walls until it faded away abruptly, leaving her and the heavily panting ghoul alone. Like the first few times she had ever entered this room, she hesitated—though now for a different reason. Unlike all the ghouls before—all the times before—this ghoul was still fully conscious and, as far as she could tell, still sane. That made it a threat to her being.

“You’re pathetic,” she heard a deep, rough voice growl. She jumped, realizing that the voice was coming from the ghoul seated in front of her. “I don’t need you advocating for me,” it continued, sneering at her from where it sat hunched and bleeding profusely. She pinched her mouth shut and settled a hard glare on it as she got off her hands and knees and stood up.

“I had no intention of doing so again anyway,” she replied curtly as she dusted her hands off on her pant legs before grabbing the handle of the mop. She didn’t say anything more beyond that single sentence as she dunked the clump of coiled cloths into the water and pushed the bucket to the edge of the crimson pool. It continued to sneer as her as she approached though she tried her best to ignore it as she set to work mopping up the fresh blood splattered around the chair. Her skin crawled each time she pushed the mop near the ghoul, knowing that its eyes were still trained on her, her stomach twisting each time the burgundy mess of cloth came within three inches of its mutilated feet.

The feeling was nothing new to her since Nao had seen this type of wound countless times before, and like those times when she tried her best to mop out the blood she found herself frustrated that the feet were so firmly planted on the ground that it made it hard to clean up. She found it was easier if the ghoul was driven to the point of insanity and she could simply run the mop over its feet without it noticing or stirring up some misplaced anger. But given that it was still the first day she avoided doing so.

Now that she thought about it, how long would it be until this one broke? She dunked the mop back in the bucket and chanced a peek at it. The ghoul was big but a bit lean, somewhat bulky looking nonetheless in its bloodied, standard-issue prison clothing. Its hands were hidden behind its back but she trusted them to be massive paws worthy of its large body.

“Are you strong?” she asked quietly, abruptly. Its livid expression dimmed as it scoffed and said,

“I’m not weak like you humans.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line, neither a faint smile nor a small grimace. “…Then that’s unfortunate.” She turned away from it and swept the mop behind the chair, confirming her guess about its hands as it swiveled its head around to look at her suspiciously.

“Why?”

She froze, once again locking eyes with its red ones. Unreasonably flustered she stammered an explanation. “Is-Isn’t it obvious? The strong ones last longer than the weak ones so it’ll take longer to break you.”

It grimaced, narrowing its eyes at her as it replied, “I won’t break.”

“They all break eventually,” she murmured, turning away from it as she walked back to her bucket. “By the time I get in here, they’re too far gone to even notice me.” She didn’t know why she was bothering to explain anything to it since it didn’t really matter. Depending on its endurance and how much torture the Interrogator put on it, it’d be dead in a couple weeks anyway.

|13|

Barely even a few days had passed before Nao was called back into the interrogation room—not that it was unusual but more often than not she was called in at least once a week if the blood wasn’t too bad (though of course that was because the Interrogator was probably busy with other engagements)—so the fact that it was barely over two days since she was in that room meant that there was a lot of blood and a lot of free time.

Nao paused before the cold steel door, her arm laden with a mop and a heavy bucket and her other hand poised to knock. The last time she had come she had been witness to horror in the making. She dropped her hand and leaned towards the door, listening hard for anguished screams or crazed murmurings. She didn’t know which was worse: the usual torture sounds or the eerie silence she was hearing now. The door suddenly opened outward, narrowly missing her face as she stumbled back into the railing behind her, dropping her mop and nearly spilling the bucket. The imposing Interrogator stared down at her like she was an annoying child before walking away with a single command.

“Clean that up.”

She said nothing as he left, picking up her mop and glancing briefly at his receding back before entering the dark room. As per usual the smell of old and fresh blood hit her like a brick wall before she saw the spreading pool underneath her feet. In the chair the ghoul sat, its jumpsuit dirtied and shredded and not even fit to be used as a rag, its chest heaving with a rattle each time it breathed. If she didn’t know better she’d assume it had been mauled by a vicious animal—though in hindsight the comparison wasn’t too far off.

The ghoul looked up when the door clicked shut behind her, something like alarm flashing in its eyes before they hardened in derision. “You again?” it spat. The way it phrased it made it sound like an accusation. She hadn’t expected it to talk to her again, but she quickly masked her surprise and replied,

“I’m the only janitor in this place…so yeah, me again.” When it said nothing else she set to work, pouring half the water in the bucket on to the floor to break the dried blood and dilute the fresh stuff. Who needed soap in this room of horrors if it was just going to get dirty again a few hours later. As she mopped up its blood she snuck glances at what injuries the ghoul had sustained this time, her lip curling up in a grimace as she spotted a handful of nails sticking out of its broad shoulder. Why did it put up with the pain?

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell him what he wants?” she asked, wondering if it was a male pride thing or some kind of honor code. Did ghouls even have that?

“Doesn’t ask,” it replied, its glare having turned into a glower a while ago. “Why do _you_ care?” it sneered.

“Not a fan of animal cruelty,” Nao explained before she grimaced, wondering why she was talking to it. Or even why it was talking to her. Why _was_ it talking to her? They never talked to her. Even the half-sane ones didn’t bother talking to her—beyond the occasional attempt to bait her into coming closer for a quick meal. After hearing its answer she found herself thinking of the only question she had heard the investigator ask.

“…Did you start counting yet?” she asked, suddenly curious if it had broken in that regard. When it said nothing she felt she had her answer. Nao opened her mouth to ask it another question, but quickly shut it when she thought better of it. Talking to a ghoul— _conversing_ with it? What on earth was she thinking? She peeked at it through the cover of her hair, keeping her movements smooth and even. It wasn’t glaring at her anymore, but neither was it ignoring her. It just…watched her.

She wished it’d stop; the staring was making her nervous. She was halfway tempted to tell it to do so, but held her tongue. No more talking to it; it was just another in a long line of victims.

|13|

The frequency of her visits to the interrogation room (or rather the torture chamber) was abnormal to say the least. Evidently the ghoul had managed to become the Interrogator’s favorite toy as for the seventh time in three days she stepped into the blood splattered room when before she had never once entered that room more than thrice in one day. She hadn’t talked to the ghoul since it’s second day in Hell, and while she was tempted to ask it if it had been questioned yet, she held her tongue. She found that if she didn’t engage it, it didn’t try to talk to her, unlike the first day when it had called her pathetic. She also found that its endurance was slipping; though still it had managed to keep silent when she entered when a moment before it had been counting down nonsense numbers. Today was different however. Today it kept counting as Nao stepped past the threshold and let the door slam loudly behind her.

“F-four hundred…sixty-one…four hun…hundred fif-fifty four…Four hundred—”

Nao had felt pity for the ghouls in here who had been subjected to the worst of torture, but hadn’t felt one bit empathetic towards any, feeling that the information they held within them was more important. Now however, she felt a tinge of it strike her chest as she listened to it continue to count down, quivering where it sat bent forward, blood dripping from its face. The twinge was even worse so in that without the valid reason behind this interrogation, it was just senseless torture.

“Hey… he’s gone,” she told it, hesitant and quiet. When it kept counting down, she spoke again, loud enough for it to hear her over its voice. “You don’t have to keep counting anymore.” This time it stopped counting, but its quivering kept on. Nao stooped a little to try and see its face, but couldn’t make out anything beyond limp black hair soaked with sweat. She sighed as she leaned her mop against the door and dropped the bucket beside it before stepping closer to it, cautious of its smallest movement—as if it would lunge at her and eat her heart if she got close enough. She crouched down before it, arms wrapped around her midsection, as she tried to get a glimpse of its face. “Before you totally lose your mind…what’s your name?” It kept silent but its quaking stopped. Deciding there was no harm in it, she continued. “…If you can hear me, my name is Nao.”

She gave up attempting to converse with it when it remained silent and went back to work. Each time she swept the mop by the ghoul’s feet or behind its back she stole glances at injuries she hadn’t seen that morning. Nails once again studded the ghouls shoulders in addition to what looked to be thick black bars protruding from its upper back. Everywhere over its body were deep, healing cuts and fresh ones dripping blood, and its feet—like all the others—were missing toes and deeply scarred.

“…You didn’t look this bad when I was here this morning,” she remarked, more to herself than to the ghoul as she dunked the mop in the tinted water and swept it in a long arc around herself. She heard nothing from it besides its heavy, rattled breathing as its nearly mutilated chest rose erratically. As she swept in front of the ghoul she noticed drilled holes in its legs and good chunk of flesh missing from its sides. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what anyone—human or ghoul—could do to earn this type of torment and neither the circumstances that lead up to it. All she knew as she swept up the last of the blood was that given her superior’s “enjoyment”, the torment seemed meaningless.

One last time Nao dunked the mop in the filthy water and rung it out and one last time she looked up at the ghoul and caught her breath in a fit of surprise as she caught its eyes along with strips of white hair near its temples. Letting her breath out in a steady stream, she calmed down the staccato beat of her heart as she straightened up, watching it cautiously as its eyes continued to capture hers. “I’ll…see you tomorrow...” she told it slowly as she retreated towards the door slowly, never once leaving his—its eyes until she grasped the door handle and turned away to leave.

“…Ya…Yaku…mo…” She suddenly heard, causing her to pause halfway through the doorway and look back at the ghoul in surprise.

“…What?” she asked it, her voice small even in her own ears.

He—it looked to be struggling to speak as it breathed in heavily and exhaled with shaky breaths. “M—y name…is…Yakumo.” She couldn’t say any of the cliché things that people say in books and the like, that a hundred, a thousand emotions filled her body, because only one emotion ran through her, one she couldn’t put a name to but felt plenty of nevertheless.

“…I’ll see you tomorrow…Yakumo-san,” she replied hesitantly, eyes lingering even as she turned away and closed the door, sorting through the keys on her key ring for the one she needed. As the sole janitor of Cochlea, Nao had keys to every closet, bathroom, storage unit, and interrogation room there was—the exceptions to her near-limitless access being the control room and the ghoul cells which were opened via remote control. As she flipped through the strips of metal her mind began to wander—which wasn’t unusual in itself given the low level of stimulation she received from doing grunt work each day.

Ghouls…had identities…names that they went by…like a human. And the ghoul inside had just told her theirs when they had no reason to. It felt to her the only information anyone in the prison had managed to get out of it—though there was a certain lack of trying on the CCG’s side—and it felt to her like a certain link of trust (though she wasn’t so deluded as to actually think that). Even so, as she thought she felt a certain pull on her mind and in her chest. And as much as she couldn’t say that a thousand emotions ran through her, the more she thought about the ghoul in the chair and what it had been through, the quicker she came to a single idea—one that came with its own risks and one that ran against a certain psychopath. As soon as the Interrogator came to mind, she put the idea out of her head, suddenly afraid of putting herself in that kind of danger…but…

She just couldn’t stand to see it—see _him_ in pain any longer.

Dropping the keys to her side, she let her head drop until her forehead hit the door, and sighed as she waged war inside her mind. There were no pros and cons to this—at least, not any that she bothered to think up beyond similar torture as punishment should she do it and a continued sick feeling in her chest should she not.

Cursing silently to herself, she peeked around her as she pocketed the keys and nudged the door open enough for her to slip inside. Nao set the mop and bucket against the door and stayed beside it, listening for any approaching footsteps before reminding herself that no one would care about a janitor going inside a room she had access to. Stepping away from the door, she slowly approached the ghoul on tiptoe, her body rigid as she gave it— _him_ a wide berth despite the fact that it— _Him_. _He’s a ghoul, not an object,_ she reminded herself as she approached his back—seemed unaware of her presence since his back was still bent and his breathing seemed even enough.

Nao wasn’t sure where to start: the nails? The bars? For sure freeing him wasn’t an option seeing as he was still a ghoul and someone who had gone through intense torture—so turning around and eating her wasn’t outside of the realm of possibilities. _The bars have to go at least. It must be uncomfortable to have something sticking out of you every hour of the day,_ she decided, taking a step closer to him and wrapping her hand around the bar sticking out of his broad back. As soon as she attempted to pull it out, twisting and nudging it several different ways, the ghoul moved, barely biting back a yelp of surprise as he twisted around to see what was happening to him now.

“Oh…that’s really stuck,” Nao observed, letting go of the bar and wiping the blood on her hands off on her pant legs. Looking around the room for a tool to help, she soon spotted the table laden with the Interrogator’s torture equipment. Her eye slid past the table, but locked on the pliers sitting on top of the tray. Wondering if its morbid use could be applied to her situation, she swiped it off the table and affixed the clamp to the base where the bar met the flesh. Again she pulled, the pliers slipping a few times because of the slick blood, but eventually catching and pulling the bar free of his flesh.

The amount of force she had to use to pull it out of his flesh sent her reeling backwards into the wall when there was nothing anchoring her to him. Nao’s head hit the wall hard enough to send her spinning, and briefly as she got her bearings she registered that he had been screaming all through the process. For a moment she worried that his screaming would bring the Interrogator back to the room, or a guard to see what was going on, but then she remembered how late it was and the probability of him still being here, or the guards caring enough to check, dropped low enough to relieve her mind.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ” the ghoul called Yakumo yelled, twisting around as much as he could in his seat to look at what she had done.

“Making a psychopath angry,” she replied meekly as she gingerly massaged the back of her head, looking down at the bar she had pulled out. Nao paled as she put a name to the thing she held in the grip of the plies. “It…It’s a stake,” she said as she let it drop, a metallic clang following it as it struck the pattered floor. “There’s still eight more; please hold still,” she informed him, grabbing another stake with the pliers and hesitantly laying a hand on his bloody back to gain some leverage before she began pulling the stake out.

“Stop… _Stop!_ ” he yelled in protest, though Nao ignored his pleas with a small apology on her tongue, believing that what she was doing was for his greater benefit. The sounds that followed were filled with squelches and metallic clangs as metal was freed from flesh and dropped to the floor; howling, anguished screams accompanied each laborious pull until his voice became hoarse and the last metal bar was extracted from his back.

Nao wasn’t sure how much time had passed, she was only sure that taking out the stakes was more time consuming than she had thought, and that the stakes had gone done deeper than they appeared. She hoped the same wasn’t true with the nails. _The nails shouldn’t be as difficult to pull out…they shouldn’t hurt as much either,_ she thought as she set the pliers down on the table and bent down to gather up the stakes on the floor; above her she heard Yakumo’s breathing slow from heavy pants. Sneaking a peak up at him, she saw sweat dripping down his face, seeping into the cuts on his face. Vaguely she wondered if the kind of pain he had borne when she freed his back of the bars was a more relieving feeling than the pain he bore during torture sessions, and the brief relief he might have felt when the Interrogator left.

“It has to feel better without them…” she started in an attempt to break the ice the silence had wrought as she collected the stakes within her hands, and walked past him towards the door. She trailed off when he said nothing. Suddenly self-conscious she continued as she dropped the stakes in the bucket and walked back to the table, “He’ll probably bring more though, and I don’t think I’ll be able to do this twice.” When he said nothing she unconsciously bit her lip as she picked up the hammer next and, standing next to the large ghoul now, used its blood stained metal claw to drag the nails out of his shoulder.

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” Yakumo suddenly stated, startling her before she had pried the first nail out of him. Nao jumped in surprise, staring as he lifted his face to glare at her.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she put the claw back under the nail head. “I’m aware,” she said as she extracted the thin slip of metal with relative ease, a small trail of blood spilling from the small hole. His red eyes narrowed at her as she pocketed the dirty nail and went to pry out the next one.

“…You’re going to be punished,” he said this time, stating the obvious.

Nao pursed her lips into a thin line. “…I know.” Thin brows knitted together in confusion as he looked back at her, though Nao tried to ignore his penetrating gaze as she worked to extract the nails.

“Then why are you doing this?”

She paused after taking out the forth nail in his nail, thinking about her answer before answering truthfully, “I’m not completely sure myself.” He glowered at her, seeming to want a more concrete answer. Nao sighed, dropping her hands to her sides as she looked around the room—anywhere but at him—for a more specific reason. “…I don’t know what kind of ghoul you are, but I don’t think anyone deserves this kind of torture,” she said honestly once she had gotten down to the root of why she was undoing most of her superior’s work.

Yakumo stayed silent and turned his face away from her, letting her go back to her work and watching as she emptied her pocket of the nails into the bucket of soiled water—she’d throw them away later. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yakumo-san,” she told him quietly before she left. She disliked that that was the only thing she could say to him, but saying anything else or lying wouldn’t do anything for either of them—not to mention there wasn’t much she could say given the situation.


	2. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: depictions of torture ahead. See title and Yamori's backstory for details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad I realized now which text type I need for formatting. So many hours could have been wasted.

As soon as Nao heard the Interrogator’s voice the next day, she began to panic, imagining all sorts of scenarios that would leave her half-crazed and ten toes less, but he sounded normal—like he hadn’t seen Yakumo yet—and truthfully, that idea frightened her just as much. As such she was on edge all the way down to the interrogation room, mop and bucket in hand, and heart pounding loud enough that she could hear each individual thump. It skipped a beat when she arrived at the room, the door wide open allowing Nao to see Yakumo slumped in his seat and staring at her with an indiscernible expression. In front of him sat a wooden chair, its purpose totally lost on her as she looked around the room for the Interrogator.

  
“Sir…?” she called out timidly as she slid one foot past the door frame, her eyes giving the ghoul a once-over as she inspected him for new injuries. A bruise ringed his left eye and a knife had slit his lips near the center, he was breathing heavily and when Nao looked over his upper body she found a few dozen round, red welts pock marking his chest and abdomen—several of them beginning to turn purple. Nao called out again hesitantly as she ventured further into the room, nervous as to why he hadn’t shown himself yet; it was unlikely that he had forgotten to close the door. “Am I early aga—!” she was interrupted when the door slammed shut behind her and a hand wrapped around her neck from behind, the large palm tight against her windpipe. Alarmed and fearful, Nao dropped the mop and bucket to scratch at the arm threatening to choke her, below her the scalding water spilled as the bucket rolled.

  
The hand tightened against her throat while a second wrapped around her arms, strapping them against her sides and holding her tight against the male body behind her. She swiveled her head around to get a look at her assailant, the surprise she had held on her face dropping away for a pleading look at the Interrogator’s cold, harsh face. There was no doubt he was angry—furious even given he was trying to chock the life out of her—but his face didn’t betray that emotion. “Gak! Aah…s-sir…wh—y?” she managed to choke out. Would he kill her? Just because she had wanted to lessen Yakumo’s discomfort for the night? 

  
She solely believed that he would. The expression he showed her was cold, as cold as a corpse’s and the bitter chill made her believe all the more that he would kill with no remorse.

  
“Your audacity will be punished,” he told her as he dragged her by the neck to the rotting chair set in front of the wheezing ghoul. The Interrogator practically threw her into the chair, releasing her throat and leaving her barely enough time to chock down air before her shoulders were nearly pulled out of their sockets as the Interrogator tied her arms behind her back with duct tape and fastened them to the back legs of the chair, her spine flush against the back of the chair. Save for the rest of her body, she could not move her upper torso without risk of dislocation. Meaty fingers ran through her hair and gripped it tightly at their roots wrenching her head back and leaving her bruised neck exposed.

  
“You will watch this” he hissed in her ear, each word enunciated and threatening. He let go of her head with a swing of his hand, letting it swing back down so she could witness the fresh horrors he was about to unleash upon the weakened ghoul. Dare she look away? No, that would just make the Interrogator more angry and vindictive, and at the very least she would watch the torture her mistake had brought upon the ghoul; subject her conscious mind to the blood and gore because it was her fault.

  
Throughout the whole ordeal the Interrogator stood either behind the ghoul or to the side so Nao could see clearly what he was doing. It began with the black stakes, their points positioned over Yakumo’s shoulder or back while a hammer was raised over the head—looking similar to a sculptor about to chisel away a piece of stone. But when the hammer came down upon the stake and screams rang in her ears, the peaceful image was shattered. And so it went on. 

  
Stakes and nails were imbedded into his flesh, and quickly soon after Nao heard the ghoul’s voice choke out numbers in orderly fashion—a hopeless plea for the pain to stop as the Interrogator brought out tool after tool—instruments of his twisted hobby—and ground them into Yakumo’s once strong body. The whirring of a drill and the subsequent squelch of shredded flesh brought Nao the smell of blood as red drops landed on her cheek and on her clothes. Nao fought to hide her revulsion as she took deep breaths through her nose, the Interrogator taking pleasure in the ghoul’s pain and her obvious discomfort the whole while.

  
The Interrogator turned his attention towards her next, waving the dripping drill near her face and asked, with a delighted smirk, “Nao-chan, do you know what “lingering death” is?” He sounded deceivingly friendly and too familiar; the mere idea that he was even remotely aware of her in this situation made her stomach turn worse than it already was. Nao shook her head in answer to his question; she had a distinct feeling that she didn’t want to.

  
His smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he turned back to the rambling ghoul and set down the drill and picked up a cleaver. Nao’s nausea hit her full in the gut as the smell of blood and meat, and the sight of exposed bone and muscle was revealed to her as the Interrogator stripped away pale flesh with knives and pliers and hatchets to get at the red meat underneath, and peeled that away as well one string of muscle at a time. Nao felt sure that she wouldn’t be able to get Yakumo’s horrid screaming out of head for a long time, or be able to wash the stench permeating the stale air out of her coveralls.

  
“You think you were doing him a favor?” the Interrogator asked as he stood over her, a butcher’s cleaver gripped tightly in his hand with fresh blood dripping from its rusted edge. Nao trained her eyes on the spots of red blooming on her pant legs, trying hard not to look at the ghoul who was stumbling over nonsense numbers. “Thought you might get something in return?”

  
Nao worked her jaw up and down several times before she was able to form any actual words. “I…I didn’t…want a favor…” she replied quietly, haltingly. The steady drips stopped for a moment, and she assumed the Interrogator had moved away, only to become horribly shocked when the roots of her hair were gripped between strong fingers, and her head wrenched back, her neck exposed to the open air.

  
“What did you want?!” the Interrogator asked, his husky voice hissing in her ear. Nao’s eyes swiveled around his figure looking for the butcher knife; afraid he might kill her and feed her body to the ghouls stuck inside the prison.

  
“I didn’t! I didn’t want anything!” she cried, her lower body flailing in distress as he yanked her head back farther. “I just…I just didn’t want to see him in pain anymore!” she admitted at last, tears pricking her eyes as the Interrogator flung her head away in anger.

  
“Stupid girl. _He’s a ghoul,_ ” the Interrogator said while slicing apart the duct tape wrapped around her arms, before gripping her aching arm and dragging her to her feet, only to throw at the mutilated feet of the mutilated ghoul. “The only thing you can do for him—” he dragged her up onto her knees by her hair and wrapped an iron-like hand around her wrist, holding it straight out in front of her—her splayed fingertips just barely an inch from Yakumo’s bloody mouth, “is _feed_ him.”

  
Nao watched in horror as Yakumo raised his battered face to the appendage displayed in front of him, sniffing the air and moaning in hunger as hazy red irises focused on her wriggling fingers. Panicked, Nao struggled to pull herself away from where she knelt at Yakumo’s feet, alternating between scratching at iron-like manacle around her wrist, and the meaty hand knotted in her hair keeping her there. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I—I won’t do it again! I swear! P—Please let me go!” she cried, eyes wide in terror as Yakumo’s mouth split open, bloody teeth bared as he prepared to take a bite of sweet flesh.

  
Only to be the secondary victim of a cruel prank as his teeth clacked together around empty air. Briefly confused he looked for the fresh meal he was about to devour and found the janitor, Nao, trembling as she looked at her shaking hand—the Interrogator sneering down at her with unmasked anger.

  
“You will _never_ do that again.” The Interrogator let the words hand in the air as he took his leave, done with this session of torture for now. Averting her gaze from Yakumo’s diminishing figure, Nao slowly got to her feet, her hand clenched tightly against her stomach as she used the other to brace herself against the other chair as she stood. Fear and adrenaline raced through her veins as she hyperventilated, causing her to collapse in the chair.

  
Across from her Yakumo stared—hungry and on edge—at her as she pressed her hands first against her heaving chest, and then against her temples. He could smell the adrenaline rolling off of her body in waves, could hear the rapid beating of her heart beneath thin, meat-covered ribs. He could practically taste her flesh beneath his tongue, and it served to agitate him further when he recalled how close he had been to actually savoring the delicate digits.

  
“…Come here.”

  
Nao was startled out of her reverie at the sound of the ghoul’s husky voice—it had been so quiet and hushed that she had nearly missed it. Nao didn’t dare say a word as she watched the mutilated ghoul begin to struggle against his bonds—too weak to break the metal binding him to the chair. “Get over here… _NOW!_ ” he bellowed, snapping his teeth at her as she jerkily hauled herself out of the chair and stumbled back towards the door. Nao’s hand barely brushed the door knob before she imagined the worst possible scenario: the Interrogator locking her inside with a starving ghoul. This thought was immediately pushed aside when Yakumo roared for her to come closer, forcing her to scurry out of the room as quick as she could manage—the mop and bucket forgotten as the door slammed shut on his aggressive cries of desperation.

  
|13|

  
Nao was little-more than a nervous wreck the next day. It was past noon and the Interrogator had yet to call her down to clean out the blood, leaving her to wonder if he was not in—which seemed unlikely given how much he enjoyed the work—or if he was purposely not calling her down. After yesterday’s interrogation Nao was glad for the slight reprieve from this daily task, even more so that she did not have to be around either for entirely different reasons. Before yesterday, Nao had never had such a close encounter with a ghoul—even counting the ones before him who were nearly as rowdy on their more lucid days. Nearly twenty-four hours later and she could still feel the ghoul’s panting breath on her fingertips; she could still feel the graze of his rough lips the moment the Interrogator had released her wrist.

  
The adrenaline coursing through her at that moment was absolutely unforgettable, as was the fear and heart-stopping terror. This seemed to be what the Interrogator was counting on when he called her down latter on in the day near the end of her shift. As usual when she entered the room she saw the Interrogator standing beside the table laden with “special” torture equipment. As usual she saw the ghoul, Yakumo, slumped forward in his seat, murmuring to himself, and trembling as he bled out onto the floor from deep lacerations on his legs and feet; his back was once again studded with solid black stakes and misshapen nails.

  
Letting the door close behind her, Nao bent to retrieve the mop and bucket she had left behind the day before, out of the corner of her eye she noticed that the chair she had briefly occupied yesterday was sitting against the wall—as if it were patiently waiting for a guest to this horror show. Nao lent the mop beside it against the wall, the bucket occupying its seat for now—the new contents of which she couldn’t bear to look at. Behind her she heard the Interrogator set down on the table the heavy set of pliers he seemed to favor before he strode over to her. Despite knowing he was directly behind her, Nao still jumped when he clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder, and practically felt his smirk against her ear as he said,

  
“There won’t be any more problems today, will there.” The way it was phrased made it sound like a question—a rhetorical one at that—but Nao answered it anyway with the only one that was acceptable.

  
“No, sir.” He voice sounded broken even in her own ears, and it only made her feel worse when the Interrogator patted her shoulder good-naturedly—much in the way an owner would reward his dog for bringing back a ball. Nao only began to relax when the door shut behind the Interrogator, and felt her anxiety raise when she remembered she was once again alone with a ghoul. Yakumo seemed too deep within his own mind to notice her presence—much less the small exchange of words between her and his tormentor—and for the moment Nao felt safe to resume her job.

  
Still…she couldn’t help but look over the fresh wounds on his back, on his thighs, and on his broad shoulders. Least of all, she couldn’t help but listen to his ramblings—intermingled as they were between numbers and small sentence fragments. The biggest change Nao saw in Yakumo—besides the obvious decrease in his mental stability—were the thick streaks of white running through his formally coal-black hair. Though her time here had tempered her so much that she was used to seeing the physical signs of mental stress, she still felt a heavy ball of worry pit itself inside her stomach. But what could she do to help him? Absolutely nothing. Comforting him when he was like this was as pointless as talking to a brick wall, and she didn’t dare go near him after what had happened yesterday. Even now she was mopping up the blood in a half-assed way just to escape the enclosed space.

  
Yakumo was right, she truly was pathetic.

  
|13|

  
Throughout the numerous sessions the following day, Nao said nothing beyond the occasional mutter of “Yes, sir” or “No, sir”. And when it seemed that Yakumo had regained some awareness—enough to be able to follow her with his eyes anyway—she stayed silent, not even sparing him a glance as she mopped under and around the chair. The only form of acknowledgment she gave him was a single look-over when she entered the room. She noticed in each session that day that the stakes sticking out of his back moved around—one such stake sticking straight out of his shoulder was gone, a deep hole in its place, while another had appeared underneath his shoulder blade, a mere centimeter away from his spine.

  
While none of this made her particularly bad for the ghoul—at least, not any more than usual—the thing that hurt her was the hushed requests thrown at her back each time she started to leave the room. This morning had been a plea directed at the Interrogator—who had left nearly twenty minutes prior—to have mercy on him. Near-ish to noon he had seemed to ask the room—or maybe ask her? More likely he might have been talking to the absent Interrogator—to kill him; to put him out of his misery. The last thing he said before she left was for her and her only.

  
“Help me.” She could feel his eyes on her back as she stood facing the spiraling enclosure of Cochlea. She couldn’t tell what made her feel worse about the whole situation: Yakumo asking for help from someone he had previously called pathetic, or how she had walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  
|13|

  
Screams echoed from behind the door, steadily escalating in volume each time the Interrogator cut, stabbed, tore, and all-together antagonized Yakumo. Without a single call to coerce her, Nao showed up at the interrogation room, mop and bucket in hand as she stood—straight as a pin—in front of the door. To the few who passed by her on their way to the lower levels, she was expressionless and uncaring to the sounds of torment pouring from the room. She was certain that they probably thought her either strange or too used to the daily deeds.

  
In truth, however, Nao was working hard to smother the squelches of emotion running through her stomach each time she heard a particularly painful scream. She knew once the Interrogator saw her, he’d see how much it hurt her to listen—and probably revel in it.

  
A brief moment passed by; no more screams were emitted from behind the door, but Nao had been lulled into this false sense of security more than a few times already, and waited with baited breath for Yakumo’s screams to erupt from the room. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when the phone her boss had provided her buzzed against her thigh. Fumbling, she dug her hand into her pocket and flipped it open, half-listening as the Interrogator told her to come clean up a large mess. Nao wasn’t sure what the Interrogator had meant by “large mess”; her own definition of a “large mess” consisted of one of the ghoul victims finally kicking the bucket, and having to remove the blood, piss, and excrement the bodies expelled by herself. As she nudged open the door and peered inside, she sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case. Her relief at seeing the battered ghoul still breathing—albeit shakily and with a near discernable rattle in his chest—was short lived when she literally stepped into a blood bath. The thick pool underneath Yakumo’s feet was easily four feet in diameter and spreading, the bucket she had left behind twice before was tilted on its side amid the blood, its contents spilled out for her to see and gag at.

  
Before now she hadn’t really thought about where the toes and peeled flesh had gone each time the Interrogator had his fun with his multitude of victims. Now that she was staring at the discarded pieces of flesh, she wondered if the Interrogator had fed them to the ghouls. She couldn’t help but wonder if he garnered some perverse pleasure from such things—and felt certain this was the case.

  
“Clean it up—and leave the bucket,” the Interrogator instructed as he passed by, adding the latter half as a sort of after-thought. As soon as the door slammed shut, Nao started dry-heaving—for once glad that her food budget was low this week and she had been forced to skip her lunch break. If she had eaten something it would be spilled out on the floor now amid the viscous liquid still steadily dripping from the many lacerations decorating Yakumo’s entire body. The Interrogator had been particularly zealous this time around.

  
The bucket she had brought in with her dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, half the water spilling out before she scrambled to right it. He…he’s still breathing…right? Nao thought, forcing herself to steadily look over each slowly clotting wound. By all accounts, with this much blood on the floor he should be dead—or at the very least close to it. Nao couldn’t even see his chest rise or fall, nor could she hear the rattling he had been making earlier. Standing up on weak legs, she slowly stepped closer to the eerily still ghoul, wary of the slightest movement he might make. He said to clean up the blood. He didn’t say anyone would come by, right? Nao thought as she gingerly stepped into the pool of blood and fought to control the shudders wracking her body. Maybe the Interrogator didn’t know he’d kick the bucket so soon, she rationalized, her feet a few inches away from Yakumo’s mangled ones as she stooped a little to try and listen to his breathing—if there was any.

  
When she heard nothing, she took a step back, and covered her face in mixed agitation, horror, worry, and denial. He couldn’t be dead…could he? He’d sounded so strong and confidant that first day he was imprisoned within this room that Nao might have deluded herself into thinking that he wouldn’t break.

  
And now a week later he was as dead as a doorknob; his head hanging against the back of the chair, leaving his neck woefully exposed.

  
I should call someone to collect the body, Nao debated with herself. But what if they don’t believe me? I can’t tell them that he looks like he’s not breathing. Nao spared the still body a pensive look as she nervously fingered the cellphone in her pocket. Grimacing, she stepped up to him, still wary as she slowly reached out her hand, the purple bruise ringing her wrist evidence of her prior naïve thinking. Her fingertips barely brushed against the muscular neck of the ghoul before Nao drew it quickly away, clutching it protectively against her chest; fully expecting Yakumo to be tricking her into coming close enough to eat her. When he didn’t so much as stir, Nao breathed a slight sigh of relief and reached her hand out again, her other hand tightly gripping her phone as she pressed her fingertips against Yakumo’s exposed artery.

  
Barely a minute passed by when Yakumo’s eyes blinked blearily open and gave several short, sputtering coughs—the rattles in his chest increasing with each heave of his chest. Nao in turn retracted her arm like a viper had struck out at her and stumbled back until she hit the wall opposite him.

  
“ _Ohmygod!_ Oh God, you’re still alive!” she shouted, her jaw dropping in shock as she watched him writhe in his seat, his head flopping forward to stare blankly at the pool of blood beneath him. Like the hair that framed his face, the top of his head was heavily flaked in white—not even a lock the size of Nao’s thumbnail was without a white hair. Sobering a bit at Yakumo’s apparent alive-ness, Nao silently pocketed the cell phone, and grabbed the handle of the mop, dragging it through the spilled water and mixing it with the drying pool of red.

  
Nao wasn’t sure what to say to him, or even if she should say anything at all, and so she worked in silence as Yakumo continued to stare at the floor, barely registering her mop when it crossed his line of vision. Only when Nao’s bucket had turned a grisly shade of red and the pool had halfway disappeared did Yakumo utter the smallest of sounds in words that made Nao purse her lips in bitter acknowledgement.

  
“…take them out…”

  
“…I can’t,” Nao replied, equally quiet as she wrung out the blood from the mop, and swung it around herself in a clean arch, hesitating briefly when she caught Yakumo’s eyes set in a hard glare directed at her.

  
“Take them out,” he commanded more strongly; his voice was hoarse, his body was very nearly broken, and Nao was certain that his mind was beginning to take a turn for the worse, yet his eyes conveyed all the strength he could ever hope to have in this impossible situation. It made her sick that she had to crush what little hope he might have had that she would try in her own small way to help ease his descent into death.

  
Gripping the mop handle tightly, she faced him fully with a hard look of resolution and said, plain and simple: “He’ll just do the same thing as last time! I won’t put you through that again.” Her words hung in the air between them, the only noticeable reaction from him being a tinge of frustration in his eyes and a curl of his lip in a snarl. Nao turned back to her work when he said nothing else to her however. Compared to the moment after his resuscitation, this one was as tense as a stretched rubber band, the air more cloying and suffocating than usual.

  
Dirty red-brown streaks where her mop had run were all that were left of the pool of blood, and with her work—half-assed as it were—done, Nao grabbed the handle of her bucker and made for the door. She only paused when she heard Yakumo say something she never expected him to say to her of all people, to someone he had fingered as “pathetic”.

  
“… _Please._ ”

  
Nao could say that a moment passed between them that seemed to stretch into forever, and could also dress it up as a single second that said everything. But in truth, Nao just barely faltered in her step before she flung open the door, and let it slam shut behind her.

  
While to Yakumo it looked like a flat out refusal to adhere to his small request, Nao was, in reality, at war with herself once again as she leaned back against the door; the bucket of dirty water ten times heavier in her hand than ever before. There was no way this wouldn’t end in the same way it had the last time. He had to have known that, but if he had, then he wouldn’t have asked anyway. He’ll just do it again. He might even kill him…he might even kill me. She pushed away from the door and started walking up the slope of the spiral, her eyes stuck on the door each time she passed along the opposite wall. Beneath her fingertips, she could still feel the soft, near-steady thrumming of Yakumo’s heartbeat, could still feel the abrupt pause and restart when he had woken up.

  
When it came down to it, she just had to ask herself one thing: what was the problem? The Interrogator and his sadistic mind? Or the hungry, tormented ghoul that might take a bite out of her the second she stepped close enough? _It’s easier to get eaten, than to live with the consequences of a psychopath though,_ she thought dejectedly as she wrenched open the door to the employee break room, and tiptoed past the rowdy guards shouting obscenities at the small TV set mounted against the far corner of the small room. _Can I keep living with not doing anything though?_

  
|13|

  
In the end she couldn’t do it. In the end, as soon as she had emptied the bucket down the toilet drain, she refilled it again, and brought it back down to the interrogation room. In the end, she was going to disobey the Interrogator for possibly the last time. There was no rational reason why she should. If she took a second to think about, it was just insane. People got locked up for hiding a ghoul—she’d even heard rumors that they were executed for similar crimes against the CCG. There was no way the Interrogator wouldn’t do the same for as small an offence as this.

  
And yet despite knowing this, Nao—almost mechanically—unlocked the door and slipped inside. In the middle of the room the once-formidable ghoul was quietly rambling to himself again, something like a whimper and a shudder escaping him when the door closed behind her. _He thinks I’m him,_ Nao thought as shudders started wracking his body.

  
“It’s just me,” Nao said quietly, the soft sound of her feminine voice putting a stop to the mild quaking, and making Yakumo glance up at her in weary agitation. When his exhausted eyes narrowed on the bucket hanging from her hand, he sneered—though the motion was half-hearted at best.

  
“You like this? Cleaning up others’ shit?” he mocked her, his voice weak and dripping with aggression.

  
“…About as much as you like being a pincushion for a psychopath.” Nao replied back, watching placidly as his jaw ticked. His agitation was nothing new, neither were the biting words, yet still Nao felt that something about him seemed…off. It was no more so physically than would be expected with someone who had been continuously tortured the last week. It was more in the way he responded to her, and to her irritation she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  
For the moment she ignored the query and instead focused on the present matter. “Why do you want my help?” she asked him, her entire body rigid as he slid hazy eyes over her figure. “You know what’ll happen right?” Given the state he had been in the last few days—the early stages of mental degradation that always led with crazed mumblings—she sorely believed that he did not recall the disastrous result of her prior help. The blank look he had on his heavily bruised face spoke as much. Though aside from torture being the cause, it was possible that the Interrogator had also hit him too hard in the head with one of his toys.

  
“He might kill you next time. Do you really want that?” she asked him, wondering if what he had begged for just a few hours earlier was really what he wanted. In all honesty, who could blame him?

  
Yakumo neither inclined his head in answer, nor did he speak at first, he only stared at her with unfocused eyes before saying—uncharacteristically—quietly, “Just take them out, Girl.”

  
Nao paused, biting her lip self-consciously before she took a few steps closer to him. “Promise you won’t bite me,” she said as she poured out the water over the stained tiles beneath his feet, and set the empty bucket beside him. “—or eat me. Okay?” Nao’s finger ran over the blood-stained machinery—looking for the overly familiar heavy metal pliers, and a hammer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Yakumo follow her movements with steady trepidation, his body flexing in impatience as she picked out the tools she had used the last time. He hummed in agreement—the small sound uncomforting as she glanced at the nails studding his neck nearest his mouth. As she went to grab the pliers, she picked up an equally heavy wrench—its rounded edge dented as though it had hit something even harder than its metal frame.

  
“Bite this,” Nao commanded him, holding the wrench out for him to clench between his teeth, overly aware of how close her hand was to his face, “and try not to scream.” She saw his flattened nose twitch at the slight breeze her sudden movement had caused, saw his lip twitch back over his teeth, and more importantly, she saw the hungry look in his unclear eyes. Before she could retract her hand and go for a different approach, however, he jerked abruptly in his seat before grasping the wrench between his teeth just as Nao’s hand fell away.

  
While Nao felt sure that Yakumo knew it was in his best interest that she keep both hands, she couldn’t help but reveal a little in the slight elation she had gotten when her blind trust wasn’t betrayed. As she got to work on the various stakes, nails, and the occasional staple, Nao focused on that small feeling, and tried to smother it with what the Interrogator had learnt her before: Yakumo was still a ghoul, and given the chance, he would easily, and without remorse, eat her alive. Still, it was a hard lesson to remember when, each time she pulled a stake from his back, or from his side, she was rewarded with a small shadow of a pleased sigh.


	3. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Assault and Torture. This ain't rated M for nothing!

Nao wasn’t sure which it was—cowardice or self-preservation— that made her do it, but as she lay in bed staring at her alarm clock, she didn’t see a difference between the two. According to the blaring red numbers, she should be on the bus right now, headed towards the stop closest to the prison. In another twenty minutes—on any normal day—she’d be handing her ID to security personnel and punching in her timecard. She knew that almost immediately she would be called down to the interrogation room, and promptly punished for her transgression. She wondered how the Interrogator would take her absence. She wondered if Yakumo would see her as both pathetic and a coward. 

  
Sliding her hand from under the blanket, she grabbed the small cell off her nightstand, and dialed her boss’s number. As far as she knew, she was an exemplary employee—even as a janitor—and would be allowed the late call-in. She knew already that it came with a little verbal abuse, but compared to the physical retribution of the Interrogator, the haranguing was welcome. Snapping the phone shut, she let it drop off the edge of the mattress, and burrowed under her blanket, curling herself into a small ball. For now she was safe, for now the Interrogator couldn’t make her watch. But tomorrow, Nao would have no choice but to go to work, and face the consequences. 

  
For seven months Nao had worked at Cochlea, and for five of those months she had cleaned for the Interrogator. In all that time she had come to two clear conclusions: the Interrogator was a psychopath who clearly got pleasure from torturing his victims, and with all his tools and methods, he was clearly creative to a point. The best that she could hope for was a repeat of her earlier punishment; she couldn’t even begin to think of what the Interrogator had in store for her tomorrow.

  
|13|

Nao was certain that the Interrogator would call her down the minute she came in. She was certain that when she was called, a repeat of her first punishment would follow soon after. But she was wrong on both counts. Nao was agitated from the minute she stepped inside Cochlea that morning, to her lunch break at noon. She was even more irate and confused when—the few times she had “happened” to pass by the interrogation room—she had heard noting emanate from behind the door.

  
During her break she contemplated slipping inside the room to see if it was empty and if the ghoul had died. But this idea was quickly forgotten when her phone buzzed against her thigh. Nao froze, the bite of sandwich in her mouth little more than a lump in her throat as she quickly swallowed, and hesitantly retrieved the cell. A pit forming in her stomach when her eye caught the Interrogator’s number. Nao said nothing as she answered the phone—she felt sure that if she spoke it would betray her fear.

  
Contrarily, the Interrogator’s voice was even, neutral, and overall emotionless as he told her briefly, _“I have a job for you,”_ before hanging up. Nao listened to the click and the resulting beeps for as long as she dared before slipping the phone back in her pocket, and wrapping up the rest of her sandwich—her movements deliberately slow as she went to retrieve her mop and bucket. What would the Interrogator make her do? What would he do to _her?_ These thoughts swirled around her mind as she made her way down to the lower level, her heartbeat resonating deeply through her head the closer she got to the interrogation room.

  
 _It’ll be okay…he can’t kill you, that’ll just make the boss suspicious…hopefully,_ she tried to reason in her head, knowing well enough that in a prison for ghouls anything could happen. Quick like a Band-Aid, Nao turned the handle and stepped inside, the door slamming shut as her eyes adjusted to the muted light the single lightbulb was barely emitting. She looked first to the center of the room where Yakumo sat quivering, his lips moving though no sound came out. She looked quickly over his body for new wounds or less recent ones, before finding that nearly all of the ones she could see were at least a few days old. Slowly—near hesitantly—she slid her eyes over to the imposing figure next to him.

  
The Interrogator stood beside the weapon-lain trolley, a knife in one hand and a grindstone in the other. Methodically he slid the knife’s edge against the stone, small sparks flying whenever he dragged it against the edge sharply. Nao stood against the door watching him for a long moment, her heart in her throat as she waited for him to do something, to _say_ something to end the tension she had stepped into. But no matter her silent wish, the Interrogator continued his slow, deliberate movements, until he held the knife up for inspection.

  
“I thought we had an understanding, Nao-chan,” he said, his voice near to disappointed while his demeanor betrayed nothing but disinterest in her altogether. “What was the reason this time? Did he beg you? Did you just feel so sorry for him that you couldn’t help it?” he asked, seeming to mock her with the latter. The way he said it made Nao think he wanted an answer, but the second she licked her dry lips and opened her mouth, he shot her a warning glare that spoke more than his words had. _Shut up. Talk and this knife goes through your gut._ That’s what his glare meant to her, and as a result she clamped her mouth shut, her teeth aching as she continued to watch the Interrogator set down the knife and pick up a smaller, slimmer one to sharpen.

  
“Leave those by the door, and come over here,” he commanded her, not sparing her a glance as she moved jarringly, leaving the mop and bucket by the door before she walked—mechanically as her mind was in a state of terror—over to the Interrogator. She stopped barely a foot away from him, her body shaking uncontrollably as he stopped grinding the edge of the blade and held it directly in front of her to inspect before pointing the tip downward, and gestured for her to take it. “Test this,” he told her, his eyes hard as flint as she gingerly took the blade between her fingers, and hesitated.

  
Normally, one might think: if I use this on him, I might be able to escape! Or some other such daring thing. But not Nao. Often during her childhood, her mother—and teachers, and other such close, personal figures in her life—had commented on her meek personality. In relation to being meek, Nao was kind, and often kept her sharp wit to herself—though this inclination had changed over the years. But for the same things for which she had been praised, her mother often lamented that her kind nature would bring her nothing but trouble.

  
Well…it was her kindness that had brought her to Cochlea in the first place, and for that she supposed her mother was right.

  
Dumbly, she looked up at the Interrogator and asked him, “What do I use to test with?” She had a feeling she knew what he meant, but declined to accept such a thing until his eyes narrowed further, and answered her question. Her stomach sinking, she looked down at the knife, and hesitantly ran her thumb along its edge. Nao had barely brushed the edge before she felt a prick, and watched sullenly as a bead of blood welled up on the pad of her thumb. Without a word she thrust the knife—blade down—at the Interrogator, and put her thumb to her mouth, licking away the blood. Alarm spread across her face as the Interrogator shook his head, a sneer on his lips as he pointed at the still quivering ghoul.

  
“Test that on him,” he told her, a hint of glee in his eyes as he watched Nao glance quickly over to the ghoul before looking back at him, her brows drawn together in a gesture meant to be pleading.

  
“Wh-why? It’s sharp enough,” Nao tried to explain to him, unable to keep the slight quaver out of her voice. Her stomach sunk again as the Interrogator shook his head once more and said, plain and simple,

  
“Normally a ghoul’s skin is tough enough that man-made weapons cannot hurt them. But this one’s been injected with a special fluid which renders them as vulnerable as humans.” Nao had heard rumors of just as much, that ghouls were monstrous in not just their habits, but in their very being as well. Truthfully, her first few days cleaning up after the Interrogator, she’d thought it was a load of horse shit what with how easily it seemed the Interrogator was able to inflict so much damage with near-basic household goods. Well…now she knew why.

  
“Cut him. I want to see if it’s working.” Whatever the words, the Interrogator’s inflection betrayed his sarcasm, and his perverse pleasure. He wanted to see if it was working. 

  
_What a load of bullshit, he already knows it does,_ Nao thought bitterly as she steeled her nerves and wrapped a tighter grip around the thin handle. She disliked how the knife seemed to fit perfectly in her palm. Her eyes darting between Yakumo’s bent head and the knife in her hands. A nick, that’s all it would take to test the blade. A tiny prick compared to a torrent of pain; he’d hardly feel it. _He doesn’t seem to be aware of me, maybe he won’t even notice._

  
Slowly, carefully, Nao touched the sharpened edge against the battered flesh of Yakumo’s shoulder, and softly pressed down as she dragged the blade; all the time watching to see if Yakumo would notice. To Nao it felt longer than the two seconds it had taken to draw blood, but still she held her breath as she handed the knife back to the Interrogator. Her eyes focused on his belt as he took the blade and smiled benignly, and when he turned to place the slim piece of metal back on the trolley, Nao started to scurry back to her place by the door. Only to be stopped and pulled back into place by a firm hand around her bicep.

  
“Where do you think you’re going?” the Interrogator asked her harshly, making her simper and point meekly at a random spot along the opposite wall. “Your job’s not finished yet.” Her heart plummeted down into her stomach as her mind registered the words. Her job wasn’t _finished_ yet. That would imply that she’d already started. Flicking her eyes over her shoulder at the mop, she looked back at him, hoping that he hadn’t meant what he seemed to imply. His glower slowly melted into a half-smile as he shook his head once, and pulled her over to the cart.

  
“You probably don’t understand all the hard work I’ve put into this one, which must be why it’s so easy for you to disobey me,” he said conversationally, his grip tightening further as he whipped her behind Yakumo. “It’s about time you learned, Nao-chan.”

  
“Y—You can’t make me…I-I-I’m not trained. Th-the warden won’t—” Nao tried to tell him, tried to persuade him to not make her do this, before he cut her off with a threat.

  
“Unless you want the want the Warden to find out about your “attempt” to free this ghoul, you’ll do what I say.”

  
“Bu—Bu…I—I didn—”

  
“It’s your word against mine,” he sneered, picking a bowl up from the trolley and thrusting it into her weak hands. “Get started. You’re not leaving until this bowl is empty.” He walked away from her then, taking long strides over to the chair Nao had occupied days prior, and dragged it to the middle of the room, a mere few feet away from Yakumo. Nao watched numbly as the Interrogator settled himself into the seat, completely at ease as he waited for her to start his sick hobby.

  
There was no escaping this. There was no avoiding this. She should have seen this coming.

  
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Nao set the bowl down on the table, staring, but not really looking at the contents. With stiff fingers she plucked a bent, and slightly rusted nail from the mess of metal, only to let it drop from her fingers when the Interrogator said—in a booming voice—“Not that one.” She grimaced as she reached in again and took, this time, a coal black stake. Beside the bowl she picked up a hammer—the same she’d used to free Yakumo of the intrusive metal bits.

  
She tried not to think as she turned to face Yakumo’s back. She tried to disconnect her sight from her eyes as they locked on the stake in her hand; its point hovering above a broad piece of muscle along his shoulder blade. She tried to ignore her base instincts, and do as she was told—and she did just that as her knuckles turned white, and she raised the hammer beside her head, ready to strike down upon the head, and drive the stake through battered flesh and abused muscle.

  
But she hesitated, her body frozen as her resolve turned to jelly. What was making her do this anyway? Fear? Fear of losing her job? Fear of turning into the Interrogator’s plaything? Could she really allow fear to turn her into the type of person sitting before her, watching her as one does a captivating game?

  
Yes. Yes, she could. But that didn’t mean that she had to go down easy. Best to have her will completely crushed than to voluntarily follow the mad man down whatever path this may be.

  
“…Why…?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as her hands began to shake. “Why do you do this?” she asked the Interrogator again, louder so her question would be answered. Despite what the warden didn’t know about the Interrogator’s intensions—or what he definitely knew, but didn’t care to change—and despite what the officials and Investigators said, or how they acted around the man, they’d never truly know how frightening, how despicable, and how overall gut-wrenching it was to see him smile so genuinely, and hear him reply so easily with an answer she already knew.

  
“Because it’s fun.”

  
It took Nao a moment to recollect herself, and another to curl her lip in a disgusted sneer as she shot back at him the reason she knew was why he enjoyed it. “Because you’re insane.” The smile dropped from his face instantly, leaving her with an impression of annoyance and displeasure.

  
“You’re still going to do what I say, even if you don’t like it,” he told her, his voice harsh. He stood up from the chair and stalked towards her. Before Nao could take a step back, his left hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, dragging her out from behind the ghoul, and holding her arm up high—the hammer still clenched between her fingers though her grip was slowly going lax as the Interrogator applied pressure to the delicate bones of her wrist. 

  
“All those ghouls you’ve seen come and go; all those pleas for mercy you must have heard. You watched countless of them die the same way over and over and over again. What’s so special about this one?” For all Nao knew it might have been a serious question, but by now, Nao was beginning to learn that when the Interrogator asked her something, it was always rhetorical. As evidence of this new-found realization, his snarl turned into a malicious grin as he watched Nao struggle within his grasp, the stake she had been carrying clanging to the ground as she tried to grab the hammer raised high above her head—only to have her arm wrenched away, and nearly pulled out of its socket as the Interrogator nearly crushed her wrist before she dropped the hammer. “What was it about him that made you want to ease his suffering? Was it the initial act of bravado? Did seeing a round of torture stir something in your “pure, girlish heart”?” Vaguely Nao wondered how Yakumo hadn’t noticed the scuffle yet; she even flicked her eyes over to him to find his head still bent forward, and without the slightest bit of acknowledgement of what was going on. Her brief attention—a false move on her part—was stolen by the Interrogator as he leaned down closer to her face and whispered in her ear.

  
“You got attached to a human-eating monster. You’ve probably been fucking him every time you’ve been in here, too.”

  
If Nao had had the moment to properly process what he’d said, she’d have reacted with shock and something akin to mild disgust at the crass accusation. But as it was, she barely had time to take the comment to heart before the Interrogator dragged her down, and pushed her to the floor. As her back hit the blood-stained tiles, the Interrogator swept his hand over the trolley tray and came away with the large knife he’d been sharpening when Nao had first arrived.

  
“Doesn’t matter; it’s time you learned _what_ ghouls are, and _who_ they eat.” Already Nao was afraid of the man, and with the knife he became twice as scary. Nao’s fear escalated bit by bit in time with each step the Interrogator took towards her; and each time he got closer, she tried to scuttle back, only to be thwarted when the Interrogator’s foot came down hard on her leg, pinning her in place as he knelt down over her and pinned her hands under his knees, his calloused hand nearly smothering her as he pressed it tight against her mouth to smother any screams she might emit. “I think you’ll learn best if who it eats is _you._ ” Nao wasn’t sure what the Interrogator planned to do with knife, or where exactly he planned to use it on her, but she was spared the reality when a low, broken voice broke through the static surrounding them. To be honest, she was surprised that the word spoken was one she had replied to her entire life.

  
“…Nao…Nao…” Yakumo called weakly, his eyes blurry as he looked over at the sprawled pair in front of him. Through the thick haze around him he vaguely recognized Nao’s smell mixed with the heavier scent of the Interrogator, and fear. The janitor had so much fear. Each time she’d come in here, each time she had spoken to him, the fear that she tried hard to hide—but failed no matter how straight a face she put on—was always there, wavering but never strong enough to completely cloud him in her scent like now. The only other time he had smelled her fear so clearly was when she had been literally waved in front of his nose; her fingers practically begging to be bitten. “Nao…why…?” he rasped, unable to grasp the right words in his muddled mind as he tried to look out blood-blurred eyes.

  
Nao strained against the heavy weight pinning down her arms, thrashing her head side-to-side to try and dislodge the Interrogator’s filthy hand. She only succeeded in making his fingertips dig harder into the soft flesh on either side of her jaw; the webbing between his thumb and forefinger tight against her nose, threatening to suffocate her completely. Tears stung her eyes as she tried her best to both breath and get the Interrogator off of her, stopping only when she caught sight of the Interrogator’s head turned away, staring somewhat fascinatingly at the writhing ghoul. If Nao had taken a moment, she would have stared at Yakumo too, wondering why the words out of his mouth were not something sensible like “help!” or “mercy” or—rather sadly—“kill me”. But no, the words that practically echoed from his lips was her name, over and over and over, and sometimes mixed with other words that should have belonged in a sentence. Yes, if Nao had been paying more attention to Yakumo, she might have wondered all kinds of things. But since the circumstances were as they are, she was more concerned with escaping this room completely intact.

  
Using the Interrogator’s distraction, Nao wriggled her upper lip over the webbing, working her jaw open wide enough despite the pressure set against them, until the tender skin was between her teeth. Just as the Interrogator glanced back down at her, his hand retracting from her face the slightest bit as he did so, Nao clamped down hard, her teeth breaking through the thin skin, and staining each white tooth a gruesome red. The Interrogator grunted in pain as he wrenched the appendage from her glistening red mouth, sparing no time to glance at the mild injury before he wrapped his fingers around her neck, and pressed her upper torso down harder against the floor.

  
The Interrogator’s blood dribble out of Nao’s mouth as she gagged, chocking for air as the Interrogator leaned his face down next to hers and growled harshly, “Do you know what happened to the last janitor, Nao-chan? A lot of things happen when ghouls are involved; and I can’t guarantee your safety if this one just “happened” to be set loose. I’m sure you’d rather be on my good side, and follow my rules than see that happen, right?” He eased up on his grasp around her neck just enough for her to gratefully swallow down air, coughing as she did so. “ _Right?_ ” he asked again, putting extra emphasis on the word as he released her neck fully and wrapped her hand under her chin, his thumb and forefinger, caging her jaw, and leaving her no other option than to frantically nod her head.

  
His sneer widened into another malicious smile as he slowly got to his feet, the knife in his hands glinting threateningly as Nao did the same—albeit a bit slower as she rubbed an aching hand against her throbbing throat. 

  
“Do it,” The Interrogator commanded her, gesturing with the tip of his knife towards the hammer and stake, virtually laid out before her on the ground. Nao knew by now that there was no point in begging, no point in trying to play on whatever shred of humanity this man had to have to still qualify as a member of the human race. Yet still her lower lip trembled as she said, shakily,

  
“…I can’t.”

  
She was nearly jolted out of her skin when the Interrogator grabbed a fistful of her coveralls and yanked her towards him, his breath hot on her face as he admonished her.

  
“You wanna get out of this unharmed, you’ll do as I say. Now _DO IT!_ ” he shouted, a scowl on his face as he flung her carelessly away from him. Nao slowly shut down her raging hind as she mechanically bent down and grabbed the torture tools, the iron of the spike cool in her hand while the hammer’s handle was warm, yet both left scars her mind would no sooner forget than the sound of her mother’s voice.

  
She could have shut down completely. She was shutting down even now as she walked behind Yakumo’s broad back. She could have ignored everything, even the sound of her heartbeat as she lifted the stake, gingerly pressing it against the sickly pale flesh of Yakumo’s shoulder blade. She could have even pretended that the ghoul known as Yakumo did not exist; that instead she had gone back in time four years, and that instead of hammering an iron nail into a living being’s body, she was driving a wooden FOR SALE sign into the soft dirt in front of her family’s store again. She could have, and would have, denied the existence of this reality. She’d have done it all a hundred times over—

  
If Yakumo hadn’t fidgeted beneath her hands, turned to look at her with hazy red eyes, and asked—in his rough, misused voice, “Nao…what are you…doing…?”

  
Nao was meek; her backbone made of short quips, and blatant observations one could equate to sarcasm. At the very base of her being, she might have been strong enough to stomach most things, most horrifying things. After all, she had to have been strong enough to stomach what the Interrogator seemed to do on a daily basis to be able to sleep somewhat peacefully at night. But nowhere in her was she strong enough to stomach the look of shock and betrayal lighting up his eyes. And as if to prove her weakness, her tears spilled over, running down her cheeks and mingling with the blood spread across her mouth.

  
“I’m sorry… _hic_ —I…I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her hands trembling as the Interrogator grabbed her attention one final time, with something so clichéd it hurt.

  
“Are you afraid, Nao-chan? Don’t be, it will all be over soon.”

  
Self-preservation is the first law of nature. It is a base instinct, and one that Nao was unable to fight against. _Him or me, his pain or my life._ Thoughts like these ran through her head as she raised the hammer and struck down, its handle scorching her palm as the tip of the stake pressed tight against Yakumo’s flesh before sinking into bruised muscle with each strike upon its head. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the screams, the pain she’d inflicted with her own hands, or the delighted laughter of the Interrogator. She didn’t think she’d ever forget what she had done in order to repay her debts.


	4. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Assault and chewing

It was like a sick karmic joke.

  
Above her head swung the dingy lightbulb, its light too weak to function like it should, yet with it Nao could see everything, even the things she didn’t want to. The whole thing looked to her like a stage set, the lightbulb a spotlight. Nao stood just inside the rim of light: a stagehand bringing the show together. Just outside of the rim of visibility was the Interrogator: the expectant audience. And directly beneath the shine was Yakumo: the entertainment. All throughout the mock performance, the Interrogator had sat and watched with a smug grin on his face, his amusement present even as Nao hammered the last nail into a section of space between his neck and shoulder, and subsequently dropped the hammer. The metal head clanged noisily against the checkerboard floor, though what rang through her head were the numbers the ghoul had belted out desperately at the behest of the Interrogator.

  
Nao backed away from where Yakumo sat until she hit the wall and sank down to the ground, her hands shaking so badly she had to wedge them between her chest and her knees. She would have loved to close her eyes and imagine a thousand different things less horrifying than what she’d just done, but her eyes were fixed on the blood dripping from the thirty-sum metal bits stuck in the waxy flesh of Yakumo’s back. The Interrogator’s voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel; Nao’s confusion lying in whether it was because she was transfixed by the pain she had inflicted, or because she felt nauseous.

  
A sharp snap echoed through the air drawing Nao’s attention away from the shaking ghoul, her eyes flicking up to the Interrogator as he stood up from his seat, his thumb sliding away from his bent forefinger. “Do you understand how hard I work now, Nao-chan?” he asked as he walked towards her, stopping beside the ghoul only to clap a heavy hand on his bloody shoulder. “Or would you like another lesson?”

  
Nao shook her head furiously, her eyes wide with pleading and fear. Nao could only think of one thing worse than embedding metal in someone’s back, and as much as she knew she’d someday get over this, she knew in the pit of her gut that she’d never get past cutting through flesh and bone. The Interrogator’s smile widened, malicious glee leaking through as she stuttered, “N-N-No. I…I und-derstand now, S-S-S-Sir.” On unsteady knees, Nao inched her way up the wall, a fresh wave of nausea spreading over her when her eyes trailed over Yakumo’s back. Regardless of whether she was looking or not, Nao knew that a smile was there on the Interrogator’s face, but what she didn’t know was the reason behind his smirk—like there was a joke only he was privy to.

  
“A reminder then.” The Interrogator’s hand left Yakumo’s shoulder, drifting a short way down to a spike embedded beneath his shoulder blade. The amount of strength it had taken Nao to pry out each individual bar with a pair of pliers now seemed paltry in comparison to the few deft twists the Interrogator gave one now before he yanked it out—the tendons in his forearm standing out briefly. Nao flinched as blood followed the stake out of Yakumo’s body, a barely disguised grunt of pain accompanying it. “You undo my hard work, you even lay a hand on any of my things,” the Interrogator said as he took steps closer to Nao, her heart thundering the closer he got, before completely plunging into her stomach as soon as he pressed the blunt end of the bar into her stomach, “and the warden will be looking for a replacement.”

  
Nao nearly let out a chocked sob at the threat, holding herself together enough to take the stake from him—albeit with a trembling hand. As much as she feared the Interrogator, she could not will herself to look anywhere but at him, because she knew her eyes would return to Yakumo’s disfigured back, or trail to the bar slick with blood in her hand—Nao couldn’t bear to look at either. She did not have to be told twice to leave the room, the small command to come back in an hour barely audible in her ears as she slipped out the door. As soon as the door closed behind her her earlier nausea hit her hard, forcing her to expel the bile over the railing.

  
|13|

  
Within that hour Nao had scrubbed her hands raw, but still she could feel the stickiness of Yakumo’s blood coating them. Very few passing Investigator’s had seen her retch into the dark pit of Cochlea, but word traveled fast among the security personal and she’d been forced to ignore their snickering, as well as the money being passed back and forth. She’d never been to the bottom floors of Cochlea—she wasn’t even sure what was all down there aside from the extremely dangerous ghouls (she’d been told to never go below the floor housing the S-rated ghouls)—and so she was unsure if she would have to now to clean up her mess. To her (she supposed it would be) luck, one of the higher-ups had assured her that someone who worked in the lower levels would take care of it.

  
Nao wasn’t sure if it was because of her low security clearance, or because at the heart of it she was still a civilian with no training or experience, and the risk of an extremely high-security ghoul breaking out was—although remote and unlikely—still a possibility. Either way she felt bad for whoever had to clean up bits of half-digested bread, lettuce, and ham.

  
An hour later she’d had to return, her lips pursed together in a grim frown as she took in the gasping ghoul covered head to toe in blood, his mutilated feet twitching in a viscous red puddle. Nao hadn’t realized she’d been staring until the Interrogator spoke up, breaking her out of her reverie with a snap of his index finger beneath his thumb, and an irritated quip. “Are you going to get to work or stand there like an idiot?”

  
Nao felt disconnected from her body as she swiped the mop away from the wall where she’d left it, and dunked the mat of cloths into cold water, doing what she always did, but now with a coherent audience. Swipe in an arc, scrub out a zig-zag, dunk, repeat, dunk, sweep under chair, dunk, repeat first verse, dunk, repeat. Dunk, repeat. Dunk, repeat. Over and over and over until the white blocks in the checkered floor was a dirty mix of off-white and reddish-brown. All done under the observant watch of the Interrogator.

  
|13|

  
In the days following Nao’s special brand of Hell, it was decided that she would clean out the interrogation room once per day towards the end of her shift, and as extra security the Interrogator had confiscated her only key. Nao wasn’t sure if the warden was aware of her “transgressions”, or even if the Interrogator had informed him, but she highly doubted that he’d care about something so insignificant when there were ghouls to look over. 

  
Aside from this, nothing else changed. The guards still made bets behind her back, the Interrogator still regarded her with disdain despite their earlier “arguments”, and she still cleaned every nook and cranny in the prison she had access to. Still…she couldn’t help but feel that a lot had in fact changed. She looked at the ghoul called Yakumo less. She listened to his ramblings and his nonsensical numbers with half an ear. She hardened her heart to the point that she just wished he would die, and leave her alone. All this she did under the Interrogator’s careful watch.

  
And yet still she sought out the dirty-gray door with her eyes each time she passed above or below along the curved walkway. She faltered when as she passed right beside the door, and scurried away like a frightened mouse when the screaming started, and lingered when the softest sounds that she could hear were desperate pleadings.

  
A few days after she had been taught a harsh lesson, the Interrogator had stepped out, “For a moment”, he’d said, a sharp warning glare set on her as she continued to mop up sticky, red blood. Nao barely took notice of his absence until a few minutes later when she looked away from the floor, and found herself alone with the ghoul for the first time in days. Despite her morbid wishes, Nao couldn’t help but take in fully what Yakumo had become since his first day there. His skin had the waxy pallor of a corpse, and the color of a dim, gray dawn. Everywhere there were slow healing wounds, and exposed muscle, and if Nao could bear to look down, she knew she would see chipped white bone peeking out between the frayed edges of flesh where Yakumo’s toes used to be.

  
Absentmindedly Nao reached a hand up to her neck and brushed her fingers against the coarse fabric of the high collar of her coveralls hiding the bruises spanning the expanse of her throat, the largest of which ran vertically along her windpipe. Similar to the ones on her neck, were bruises on the backs of hands. The hardest bruises to hide, however, were the ones that should have been the easiest. They were the shadows of the Interrogator’s fingers running along her jaw, a reminder to not go against the psychopath. One would suppose that Nao had left them uncovered just for that one reason, but in truth Nao didn’t have the money to waste on make-up for something that would go away in a few days’ time. 

  
What the Interrogator had done to force her to comply with his wishes paled so much in comparison to the brutal torture Yakumo was going through. Pity was one thing, wanting to help was another, but this new feeling—knowing that she was now physically part of Yakumo’s physical and mental torture—was something else entirely, and she knew it would stick with her longer than the bruises ever would.

  
|13|

  
When Nao was still a third year in high school, her father killed himself. Officially the report had determined his death as accidental, and the fact that it was raining that day seemed to cement that theory. But given that he had been forced to sell his store weeks prior, and had simultaneously racked up a mountain of debt trying to save it, slipping in front of an oncoming train did not seem very accidental. That same day Nao had felt something—a sense of foreboding maybe?—in the air, and she didn’t know what it was until she went to the train station to go home. The train had been stalled for a few hours, people complained about the inconvenience, and Nao’s father was dead—his body unrecognizable aside from the funny green suit he always wore (now stained a deeper shade of green paisley), and the beaded bracelet Nao had made him wrapped around his dismembered hand.

  
Since then Nao had learned to both respect and despise this ominous feeling that told her that her dad had died, that debt collectors were waiting right outside her door for the next payment. The same one that warned her that there was a dead body right before she stepped inside the interrogation room.

  
She got that same dark feeling now as she flipped her phone open, and listened as the Interrogator asked her to come down. This sense of foreboding that she was feeling probably meant one of two things. The far more likely possibility was that Yakumo was dead. She wasn’t stupid; Nao had figured out how long all the other ghouls had lasted under the Interrogator’s care, and averaged out their rate of death. By her calculations, the ghoul was due to die any day now.

  
The other possible meaning was a simple warning not to go down to the interrogation room. Naturally Nao dismissed this since she had done nothing else to upset the Interrogator, and had no reason to fear further punishment. Still, though she was certain she had done nothing wrong in the last few days that did not stop her from stalling as long as possible, before gathering her usual supplies and making the slow trek down to the interrogation room. Nao had hesitated for at least half-an-hour before leaving the small comforts of the break room, yet her unease kept mounting the closer she got to the steel-gray door. Neither did it subside when she was left with silence after several sharp knocks upon its dingy surface. 

  
Setting the mop against the adjacent wall, Nao tried the door knob and found with slight surprise that it opened easily despite having been locked out around the clock the past several days. Swallowing the thick lump in her throat, Nao slowly opened the door, wary of whether the Interrogator was inside or not, and tried to look around the dim room through the narrow slit. “S-Sir? Am I too late?” she called hesitantly, squinting into muted light when she thought she saw something move.

  
 _He wouldn’t be so petty as to try and scare me for no reason…would he?_ Nao thought, opening the door a smidge wider. 

  
“ _C’mere._ ”

  
Nao’s heart nearly beat out of her chest at the sudden command. Surprised, she squeaked out a “Yes, Sir!” and slipped in quickly through the narrow space, the water in the bucket sloshing over the rim. The florescent lighting streaming in behind her narrowed to a thin strip before disappearing completely as the door shut behind her, leaving her to flounder as her eyes tried to get used to the muted light. In her rush to get inside the room—and by extension to not irritate the Interrogator—Nao failed to notice two things as she focused on a third. One: she had left her mop outside the door. Two: for some reason or another the Interrogator was standing just behind the door. The third was the chair in the middle of the checkered floor, devoid of its most recent occupant.

  
Nao felt her heartbeat slow as it sank into her stomach, the surprise from earlier leaving her body lax as she took a few steps forward, away from the looming figure of the Interrogator. She wasn’t sure how to feel as she stared at the bloodied pair of handcuffs lying on the seat of the chair. Whether she’d wanted his death or not, once a ghoul entered this room, they never left alive. “He’s dead…?”

  
The Interrogator did not answer beyond a sickening snap of his index finger beneath his thumb. He did not give her any orders, nor did he ask her any questions. She wondered if the sick bastard had called her down just to see her reaction. “If I’m not needed here, then I’m leaving,” Nao informed him as she turned on her heel, only to stop when he asked her a question—a confusing one at that.

  
“Are you afraid, Nao-chan?”

  
Nao glanced at him over her shoulder, her mouth open to ask what he meant when she froze, the foreboding feeling hitting her hard as she thought about what he meant by those words. Thoughts like _“Is this a trap?”_ and _“Is he still angry at me?”_ ran through her head as her heart beat faster, only to stop dead when another voice filled the empty air between her and the Interrogator.

  
“—p…hel…p…me…he—help…”

  
Nao turned her head away from the Interrogator, and looked for where the voice was coming from. “Yakumo-san…?” Nao called quietly, hesitantly, fully aware of the Interrogator behind her as she slowly walked past the chair towards a back corner. She stopped dead in her tracks when she found a crumpled man lying there, the man’s body bruised, and bloody and violently beat upon, his face a bloody mess of missing sections of flesh, and cuts. Nao felt ice pouring through her veins as she felt a horrible realization that she was looking at the Interrogator.

  
Adrenaline spiked through her as she dropped the bucket of water and turned back to the figure she had left by the door, her body jumping as she found the ghoul not two feet away from her. Heart beating a mile a minute, Nao retreated backwards, her eyes fixed on the ruby reds practically glaring down at her as he followed her step-for-step. She felt like screaming for help, for mercy, for anything that would let her leave this room alive, but only succeeded in giving a yelp of surprise as her feet tripped over the bucket, and a small groan as she hit her head against the floor.

  
Disoriented, Nao tried to scuttle backwards, her right foot caught in the bucket, and certain she made a pathetic picture as Yakumo loomed above her. The ice in her veins froze her body as she watched Yakumo’s spit lips spread into a wide smirk, fearful of what he would do to her. At the very least she imagined that he would kill her and eat her—and if she were being honest she’d confess that she hoped he would do so quickly.

  
So when he lifted his leg—as if to take another step forward—and brought it down hard on her left leg, pinning her in place, she could only react with surprise and loud gasps as she tried to muffle the pain coursing through her calve. She was largely unsuccessful as she thrashed against the floor in a sad attempt to wriggle out from beneath his bare foot.

  
She thought about trying to kick at the offending appendage, but a glance upwards made her think better of it. Yakumo’s hair was completely white-blond, his face was swollen and bloody, pockmarked with cuts and holes while his waist was stripped down to the tight red muscle underneath, nails and stakes decorated his shoulders and back from what Nao could see, and his legs looked just as worse off beneath pants so soaked in old blood they appeared black. All-in-all, he looked as he usually did: like he’d been through Hell. What truly got her though was the mirth in his bright red eyes.

  
Why. Why was he looking at her like that?

  
Marked gray skin filled Nao’s vision as Yakumo dropped down on top of her, her right hand caught beneath his knee while the other pressed tightly into her upper thigh. Pain flared up from the bruise on the back of her hand, her fingers tingling as they slowly went numb. Despite knowing it was pointless, Nao tried to pry his knee off of her hand, her nails digging into either blood-soaked fabric or flesh before scarred fingers wrapped around her wrist, and ripped it away.

  
Most of Nao’s upper body was pulled away from the ground—her lower parts still firmly pinned beneath Yakumo’s abused body—her arm held aloft in the air, and threatening to be pulled out of its socket. Nao’s breaths came out in short pants of mixed hyperventilation and pain as Yakumo played with her hand, his flattened nose skimming her fingers and palm, small puffs of air hitting her flesh as he breathed, as he _smelled_ her. Nao had an idea of what he intended to do given the last time her hand had been so close to his mouth. She didn’t think her heart could beat any faster.

  
“You didn’t answer me, Nao-chan,” he said then, his voice as rough and worn as before. In the back of her mind she wondered how she could have mistaken him for the Interrogator, before recalling that her mind had been occupied with something else entirely.

  
Nao didn’t trust herself to speak, so she opted to stare—wide-eyed and frightful—at Yakumo as he slid his hand from her wrist to wrap his fingers around her hand. Her eyes—if it were possible—widened further when the ghoul’s lips spread out in a malicious smile, her heart hammering against her ribs as she frantically tried to pull her hand from his grasp. “No— _NO! Please,_ God, NO!” she begged, her cheeks wet as tears spilled over. Above her a red-pink tongue snaked out of Yakumo’s mouth, running along the underside of Nao’s left index finger, and making her twitch further out of control as the full weight of reality crashed down on her.

  
“Are you afraid, Nao-chan?” Yakumo asked again, one side of his mouth jerking in anticipation while his free hand yanked the sleeve of her coveralls down to her bicep. Nao’s mind was in utter turmoil, her entire body wrought with adrenaline and fear, and yet still she had enough sense left in her head to know that the gesture meant she’d be losing more than a finger or two.

  
“Y-Y-Yes,” Nao whimpered. Her left leg and right hand had gone completely numb, her body was on sensory overload as she feared for her life, and she was berating herself for not listening to her sixth sense. More than anything she kicked herself for not listening to the Interrogator, and for caring about the seemingly inevitable fate of a ghoul. More so even than that, she hated herself for caring about this ghoul.

  
“Don’t be…it will all be over soon.”

  
Searing pain was all Nao felt, black was all she saw, and the only things she heard was her own screams before a large hand pressed tightly against her mouth, and was replaced by the spine-chilling sound of snapping bones, and chewing. It wasn’t long before Nao passed out, her cheek flush against a blood-smeared square while above her the ghoul she’d known as Yakumo fed. Nao’s final memory of that checkerboard-patterned room—for she’d never set foot inside of it again if she somehow managed to live through this—was of a row of smiling, blood-smeared teeth, searing pain, and ruby red eyes set in a pool as black as ink.


	5. Lapse

Nao’s mind woke ahead of her body, filling her with terror as she fought to see past the darkness blinding her. Moments like these—when darkness was all she could see—Nao couldn’t help but stick to the sheer fear she had been forced to relive. And when her eyes finally opened, she couldn’t help but feel that what she should be seeing was glowing red irises about to devour her rather than the soft light streaming in through gossamer curtains. Nao’s heart pounded as her eyes darted around her bedroom, taking in the beige color of her walls and the few photos dotting them before finally landing on the blaring red numbers beside her. She watched the numbers slowly change as her heart slowed its frantic rhythm, unmoving until her alarm clock started to scream, igniting the beginning of a headache.

  
Nao hated when her mornings began with a nightmare. Worse still she hated when her mornings started off with bad memories. Turning on her side, Nao reached over and turned the alarm off, her hand lingering a few seconds on the button before she pulled it back to her chest. Nao’s memories often hid in her nightmares, waiting for the right moment to petrify her when she wasn’t looking, when she wasn’t thinking of those times. Nao hated that particular memory, if only because she’d never be able to escape it. The image of her father’s body trailed her like a black dog, the Interrogator’s hands hung around her neck like an invisible noose. But the sheer terror she had felt when Yakumo pinned her down? The pain that had shot up her arm like electricity as he bit into her? She would never be able to escape that. How could she when it practically stared at her every hour? When it practically screamed at her on the bad days?

  
Nao sat up slowly, the blankets falling around her waist as she slid her legs off the bed and stuffed her feet into the slippers waiting patiently on the floor. Glancing at the clock once more, Nao stood and walked to her closet, pulling from the hangers a lilac-colored blouse and a beige A-line skirt. She had one hour to get dressed, and eat before she had to walk to the office. One hour to erase the lingering feelings of fear. One hour to forget the man who had caused it in the first place. Though how could she ever forget him when he took something she could never get back? As Nao pulled the sleeves on over her arms she looked at her hand, examining a bite she couldn’t see, and lingering over the impressions of teeth on her wrist.

  
In all honesty she had expected more to have been taken from her—at the very least she had expected the Interrogator to be dead—but when she woke in that hospital bed, and when she had been questioned by ghoul investigators, she was surprised to find that wasn’t the case. Nao wasn’t sure if she should be grateful he had taken so little, or angry that he had taken from her at all. But when she remembered the stake hidden away in the back of her dresser drawer, she figured it was fair. Half the muscle and skin tissue from her forearm, and her left index finger was fair.

  
_What a fucking joke._

  
|13|

  
Over the years Nao had taken many odd jobs in an effort to help pay off her father’s debts; even going so far as to leave the countryside to seek a higher-paying job in Tokyo. Regardless of the infestation of ghouls, Nao was determined to clear their debt, whether she be forced to work as a janitor in a ghoul prison, or as a pariah in a corporate office. The few friends who had followed her to Tokyo, (or who she had in turn followed) had told her optimistically that the problem lie in her standoffish nature, and the gloomy character Nao had unwittingly adopted. The near-ready answers they had provided led Nao to believe these were their true feelings rather than suggestions. Nao—more realistically—believed the general avoidance was due to her hand’s appearance. Whether her coworkers were doing it consciously or not, Nao did not care; their choices were their own to live with.

  
 _That said, they could stand to do some small talk,_ Nao thought as she walked, narrowly dodging the fender of a taxi cab as she cut across the street. _The guards at the prison were friendlier, even when they were mocking me._ In the last hour Nao had been largely unsuccessful in forgetting her dream, and by extension keeping bits and pieces of that time from floating to the forefront of her mind. Indulging in work might help, but if she let her mind wander she’d end up fixating on it altogether. Most days she could avoid it, some days it was like an itch at the back of her brain, but sooner or later the smell of raw meat would pit her back in that room. The Interrogator’s voice would whisper in her ear when one of the management officers was barking orders at her. At the worst of it she’d be struck by the image of Yakumo’s battered face when her mind started to wander. 

  
In the days following her attack, her assigned doctor had informed her of the severity in which she had been found. Less than half the skin tissue covering her forearm had been stripped away and missing, the muscle underneath severely damaged and just barely salvageable. As for her index finger, it had been bitten down to the knuckle and exposed to infection. The torn flesh had been cut away, the knuckle removed, and her arm covered with a skin graft. The physical result was eerie to say the least; her forearm was near skeletal, the skin graft stretched tight over her bones and whatever muscle was left while her hand had been stripped of part of its strength. Her doctor had been optimistic that she’d be able to perform the bare necessities of both her home life and her job despite the significant loss in strength. Nao too had been optimistic up until she had been escorted from the hospital’s premises straight to the Twenty-Third ward’s branch office.

  
Nao wasn’t sure if she had been fired outright, or simply displaced due to the investigation into Yakumo’s escape, she was only told that she was on leave for the time being. What she did know for certain was that she was a liability and a suspect—her keys having been lifted off her person sometime after she had fallen unconscious, and her “relationship” with the ghoul leaked to the men leading the investigation. The questions they had asked her revolved around the few times the Interrogator had discovered her tampering with the ghoul—her punishments after both conveniently missing from the record the Interrogator had provided. Ultimately, when the Investigators questioning her asked about her motives, Nao had no such answer beyond a simple “I felt sorry for him”. Her time within the CCG’s hands lengthened even further when the question they asked afterwards struck her silent. “Why didn’t she help the others?” It wasn’t as if Nao hadn’t felt sorry for them, she had just felt more conveyed to help ease Yakumo’s discomfort for the time being. Not even she knew for sure why she had felt this way.

  
After days of a never-ending cycle of questions, minimal food, and constant insomnia, Nao had finally answered with the only thing that was true. Rather than their accusations of prior comradery, some complex she did not have, love, or some perverted fetish, Nao had answered that Yakumo had simple been the first victim out of countless others that had actually talked to her (however limited and short their conversations were).

  
Needless to say, with such an answer spurring her actions (and no evidence to suggest Nao had aided in Yakumo’s escape whatsoever), she had been freed from their hands, and subsequently fired. Nao only had two pieces of luck after the ordeal was over: her severance pay and workman’s comp helping to provide a cushion of support in her move from the Twenty-Third ward (as well as making a sizable dent in her remaining debt), and her landing of a small intern position in the Third Ward—the slight decrease in salary being a mild inconvenience before she was granted a spot in the company’s secretarial pool. 

  
_Though the company at the prison was significantly friendlier._

  
|13|

  
The company Nao worked for was actually a subsidiary of a much larger company; the building she worked in however was responsible for sales and marketing of the subsidiary, as well as shipping for the parent company. Nao herself handled a fair amount of secretarial work for the latter, and helped train new employees when the seniors were otherwise occupied. Regardless of her earlier irritation at the lack of sociability between her and her coworkers, Nao liked her job; she liked the general atmosphere and she liked the work. Though if there was one thing that Nao hated it was—

  
“Nezumichi! Can you copy these for me?”

  
“Nezumichi, I need last year’s sales numbers for fall.”

  
Nezumichi. Nezumichi. Nezumichi. The name she had abandoned in high school had somehow found its way back to her. While its original origin had been her small and meek presence amongst her peers, Nao had a feeling the revival of her old nickname might have been in reference to the vague shape her disfigured hand made. Nao had made several early attempts to kill the nickname, remarking that her accident was nothing to make light of, but any other attempt went for naught when one of her friends (who had dropped by to visit) had offhandedly mentioned to her colleagues that it was her nickname growing up. The nickname stuck, and Nao’s friend had treated her to lunch.

  
Nao paused in her typing and looked down at her hand, sighing in mild frustration at the bare resemblance between her hand and a rat’s as she remarked sullenly, _I wonder if it is some sort of karma. Maybe I screwed someone over in a past life and this is retribution._ Nao’s mouth flattened into a grim line, laughing humorlessly to herself before she lifted her eyes back to the computer screen and started typing again. A lot of her work revolved around either typing up some form, report, or some other such nonsense, shifting around a superior’s schedule, running odd errands, or some combination of the three. A few times a year there’d be a break in her routine when she’d help train new employees, but always, every day, she’d have a moment in her day where she couldn’t help but smile.

  
That moment came earlier than was usual when cold drips of water landed on the back of her neck, preceding the cool metal shell they had dropped from before it too touched her neck. Flinching from the sudden chill, Nao raised her hand to wipe away the drops, simultaneously warming her skin as she turned in her chair and cracked a smile at the person behind her.

  
The man who had thought to shock Nao was called Matsuru Tadashi, and was in fact the person who had trained her when she had first arrived at the company. At the time he had been more than welcoming while the rest of the staff had taken on a kind-yet-weary-demeanor towards her. Nao had been getting used to the look and feel of her injury at that point in time, and when she asked him about the tepid stares, he had replied with a wide smile and a casual flirtation. At first he had seemed to Nao to be an overtly friendly person; she realized a few weeks later that he was really just a shameless flirt. Either way made no difference to her; whether he was flirting or joking, he always made her laugh and smile.

  
“Kohana-chan, you looked a little sour so I thought you might like something sweet,” Matsuru said, one corner of his lips twitching upwards as Nao held her hand out expectantly. Her smile slipped into a withering look of disdain, her hand dropping into her lap as he cracked the tab on the can and threw his head back. He took several long gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing as Nao folded her arms and waited until he pulled the can away and gave her a cheeky grin. “The folks upstairs got a new vending machine; you should go have a look,” he told her.

  
Nao shook her head before swiveling back around in her chair. Her tips of her fingers barely touched the keys before he grabbed the top of her backrest and swung her back around, insisting again to go to the breakroom. “Maybe later, Matsuru-san. I still have work to do.”

  
“You’ve been working nonstop since you got here. Five-minute break; come on!” he pleaded with her. Nao wouldn’t exactly say that Matsuru had a way with words, or looks that would make a woman’s legs turn to jelly, but he had a certain charismatic charm and disarming personality that made him a favorite among their coworkers; and paired with a flirtatious disposition he had a certain way with women. At first glance one might think that the latter portion of his personality was responsible for Nao’s current position, but truthfully, anyone who knew Nao would naturally assume that it was mutual attraction that had led to this.

  
At least, that was what Nao preferred to think as Matsuru pressed her back against the side of the vending machine in the break room, hands tight on her hips as his lips roamed her throat before he captured her lips again while the machine’s heat threatened to scald her back. His lips left hers for another moment as her asked her, “So what do you think about the machine?”

  
“I think it’s been five minutes and I haven’t gotten what I wanted yet, Matsuru-san,” Nao replied somewhat curtly before grabbing his slim black tie and pulling him down for another kiss. Her lips brushed his for a moment before he pulled away and replied teasingly,

  
“I told you to call me ’Tadashi-kun’.”

  
“You call me ‘Kohana’, though,” Nao said before biting back a squeak when his hands slid from her hips to her rear, and pulled her tight against his pelvis.

  
“I like it; it’s cute.” He lowered his head until his lips were right against her ear, “Just say my name, and I’ll make you see stars,” he whispered, smirking as Nao involuntarily shuddered at the feel of his breath.

  
“…W—When?” Nao asked, biting her lip as the heat against her back started to pool in her lower stomach. It had been awhile since they had been so “close”, and when it came to their trysts at work they rarely “finished the job” as it were. When Matsuru’s hands slid away along with his person, Nao knew—a wave of disappointment cooling her down—that it was another one of those times.

  
“Tomorrow maybe? I’ve gotta stay late tonight, but I’m all yours tomorrow, Kohana-chan.” A quick peck against her lips and he was out the door, leaving Nao to fall against the vending machine and steam quietly. It wasn’t the first time he had left her in a state of frustration (sexual or otherwise) and disappointment. Neither was it the first time he had told her he had to stay late. It always hurt to remember that he wasn’t hers alone in the office.

  
|13|

  
The sun had set a couple hours prior as Nao walked out the lobby of the building alongside the other men and women from her division—excluding of course the few staff members assigned to work late each night. Around her people bid each other goodnight before leaving in pairs or groups—some were even polite enough to bid her farewell as well. Nao exchanged each pleasantry before glimpsing around the diminishing crowd, hoping for—but not expecting—to see Matsuru among them despite the fact that she knew he wouldn’t be (it wouldn’t be the first time he had surprised her after all). But as the interns and newbies passed her by, Nao turned away from the lit windows above her with a sigh and headed down the sidewalk, her heels clacking against the pavement as she blended in with the late evening crowd walking the streets alongside her—not intent on going home, but neither did she have a destination in mind either. 

  
It hadn’t been an instant thing when Nao and Matsuru started doing this. It had all just been building up to a point where one night out drinking led to four months of hooking up, or casually dating, or whatever it was they were doing. Was it a serious thing? Or was it just a fling. Nao didn’t like thinking about it when she saw him flirt with the other women in the office, especially since their relationship wasn’t concrete. When Nao mentioned it to one of her friends, they had downplayed it, though in the same breath they had suggested treating the whole thing as a fling: something fun to do until something serious came along. 

  
That said, while Nao thought to focus on the more fun side of their “office romance”, the bitter pangs of jealousy still ran through her when she saw him lean just a little too close to the receptionist down in the lobby. When he was a little too flirty with one of the interns. When he was only too happy to stick his tongue down the throat of a sales rep. down on fifth.

  
 _I’m either stupid for seeing a womanizer, or I’m pathetic because I’m jealous._ As she walked—her thoughts turning gloomy and downtrodden—she did not notice the subtle shift in the surge of people ahead of her. Neither did she notice the wide berth given by the people in front of her until she had bumped into the object of their avoidance—a very tall (and very bulky) man. The amount of muscle hidden beneath his clothing more apparent as Nao’s shoulder jerked back from the amount of force his uninterrupted gait had hit her with. Her mind caught up with her at that moment as she scrambled to gather her bearings, the man beside her pausing mid-step and settling a heated glare on her as she bowed low at the waist to him.

  
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her hands on her knees as she stared at the ground. Above her she heard a low click of annoyance, and the low voice of the man.

  
“Watch where you’re going.”

  
“Yes, sir,” she replied as she straightened out of her bow, reacting with thin-veiled surprise and fear of the man standing before her. She took in his immaculate white suit, and his short blond hair before she dared look at the irritated expression on his unusual face—which looked to have been struck with a brick or a wall one too many times. All-in-all he looked to Nao like a stereotypical Yakuza—a very familiar one at that, though aside from the few she was unfortunately associated with she could not place him. The longer she stared at him however, the more the feeling of recognition itched at the back of her mind. The man seemed to have a similar problem as the irritation dropped from his face, and a slight look or recollection took over his unusual features.

  
Swallowing thickly to keep the nervousness out of her voice that wasn’t already on her face, she said, quietly and politely, “Please have a good night.” With that she turned back the way she’d been walking and practically scurried away from him, her mind reeling as she racked her brain for any memory she had that might explain why he felt familiar to her. If it was just his face I’d probably remember, but it doesn’t look all too familiar to me. So where do I remember him from? Nao thought as she slowed her fast pace to a mild meander, trying to connect the few features she recognized to any of the men she had exchanged more than a few words with in the last few years. It wasn’t until she felt a large, strong hand grip her left bicep and yank her to a halt that she realized why the man felt so familiar to her, and it wasn’t until the same deep voice from before spoke that she recalled where she had seen him.

  
It was his eyes, though it was not their unusual color that caught her attention. It was the anger brimming underneath, the irritation disrupting the surface, and at the very end of their encounter it had been the amusement hidden beneath their depths. Unlike her dreams, or her brief lapses in thought, they had forced the worst of her memories to the forefront of her mind, suffocating her as she briefly relived a room filled with an awful metallic stench, and remembered its constant occupant as well as his very last visitor. Nao could not bear to turn around, could not bear to reaffirm what she already knew. She wondered—hoped—that the man did not recognize her, hoping that instead he simply wanted to berate her further. The man leaned down behind her, his broad chest just barely touching the top of Nao’s shoulders as he thoroughly destroyed her simple wishes with one easy observation.

  
“You look different without the coveralls…Nao-chan.”


	6. Fear

Nao could not recall the last time she had felt so afraid—though this might have been due to the adrenaline running haphazardly throughout her mind. She could, however, recall the last time she had felt this type of fear; this fear that made her want to claw the hand holding her there and run in utter terror. Despite this feeling however, Nao stood stock-still, even as the large hand gripping her arm eased its grasp and slid down past her elbow. So paralyzed with fear was she that the adrenaline coursing through her body served only to make her fingers shake and her heartbeat quicken.

  
And yet Nao gathered what strength she had left and nervously replied back to him, “I-I…I think you’re mistaken, sir.” she still could not turn around and face him—whether because it would reaffirm the reality of her situation, or because it would serve only to prove him right did not matter. Regardless of the which way she faced, Nao could practically see the smirk on his face as he gripped her forearm tightly and held it up in the air beside her, displaying the tight, scarred skin of her arm, and the shaking digits of Nao’s four-fingered hand.

  
Nao jerked away almost defensively, trying at first to lower her hand out of sight of the people circulating around them before simply clenching her hand into a shivering fist as the man behind her said, in a lax tone of voice contrasting with his earlier gruffness, “No. I’m not.”

  
Nao’s heart pounded in her ears as she hesitantly looked over her shoulder, greeted first with a massive chest before she dragged her eyes up over the thick expanse of his neck, and the rigid lines of his jaw. “Y-Y-You got bigger…Yakumo-san,” she stuttered out, her eyes darting over his face, but unable to look at the reds staring amusedly down at her. She had a good idea the reason why. When his lips spread into a fraction of a smile and a rumble of mild laughter vibrated through his chest, Nao whirled around to face him, fear on her face as she tried to back away. The large ghoul gave a sharp tug on her arm, a jolt of pain running through the appendage as she stumbled over her feet.

  
“What’s it been? Three…four years?” Yakumo asked her conversationally as she righted herself, his grip on the bones in her arm turning lax as he allowed her to take it back.

  
Gingerly rubbing the minimal muscle left, Nao replied, her eyes focused only on the buttons of his dress shirt. “Something like that.” Run! Run! Run! her mind screamed at her, while her body was still unwilling—unable?—to do so. Regardless, Nao lost her chance when Yakumo grabbed her shoulder, the quick movement startling her already nerve-wracked body as he swung her back around, his hand skimming the back of her neck as he gripped her opposite shoulder firmly and ushered her forward with him to whatever destination he had in mind.

  
“Why don’t we go somewhere and catch up, Nao-chan.” It wasn’t a request. Even so, Nao managed to drag her feet, and mumble out a last ditch excuse.

  
“Oh…no, I-I have work in the morning, and um…I don’t—I don’t want to w-waste the rest of your night, Yakumo-san.”

  
“I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” he chuckled as he ignored her, the deep rumble in his chest vibrating against Nao as she was pulled tighter against his side. “There are a few others I go by now: Yamori…” he bent down close to her, his breath ruffling the short hair covering her ears as he whispered, “ _Jason._ ”

  
Nao’s eyes widened in alarm, her heart beating faster if it was possible as she stared unseeingly into the slowly dissipating crowd. Beside her Yakumo straightened back up, a small grin on his face as he looked down at her out of the corner of his eye. Through the eyes of a stranger Nao might have passed for somewhat normal, bordering on perturbed—and would have certainly associated it to the large man beside her. But even to said man, Nao was a mess. Her breaths came out in short, hyperventilated pants, her heart beat so quick and erratic it could have been a hummingbirds, and the pinpricks of her pupils served only to make it more clear that she knew exactly who he was.

  
Or at least what the rumors had told her.

  
Jostling her out of the near-catatonic state he had put her in, Yakumo—or rather Yamori, Jason, or whatever else he was called—led her down the sidewalk. Nao walked beside him more compliantly now that her mind was a jumble of rumors, stories, pleas, and half-baked escape ideas; her arms stuck to her sides and weighed down like they were made of iron. When they stepped off the sidewalk and into the maw of a dark alley, Nao felt her heart plummet into her stomach as a choked sob escaped her throat. It wasn’t until they were nearly halfway sunk into the muted darkness that Nao finally, meekly, pleaded for her life. “ _Please._ Please don’t kill me.”

  
A snort of laughter pricked her nerves as he slowed them down to a stop, releasing her shoulder only to clap a heavy hand on the other. All the while Nao sneaked fearful glances up at him, waiting for him to snap and kill her. “What—what’s so funny?” she asked him hesitantly, her hands fluttering up to grip the strap of her purse as she watched him snicker.

  
“You haven’t changed a bit, Nao.” A row of white flashed down at her ominously as Yakumo’s grin spread wider before she was slammed against the brick wall of the alley, her shoulder protesting in pain beneath the hand pinning her there. “You smell just like back then.” Nao’s nails scratched at his wrist as she wriggled beneath him, her heart beating erratically as he raised his other arm and caged her between the wall and his broad chest. Her hands froze on his bare skin as her mind momentarily shut down, her eyes locked on the red irises above her.

  
Nao felt the rough callous of his thumb as it nestled against the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling each rapid heartbeat. “So full of fear,” he continued slowly, releasing her shoulder as he dragged his fingers up her neck until he held her jaw between the tips. Her hands fell away from his wrist as she let him do as he pleased. Yakumo glanced at her face for a moment, relishing the abject terror practically swimming in her eyes before he turned her face away and bent down closer to her. A few puffs of hot air hit her neck as he breathed her in, smiling against her ear. “You’re practically _saturated_ in it.”

  
While the ghoul looming above her indulged himself in her cortisol-infused scent, Nao stared at the people walking past them near the far end of the alley, wondering why none of them sensed something off, and wondering if the ones who did simply ignored it and kept walking. For a split second Nao thought about yelling—screaming—for help before those thoughts were crushed by the image of a torn windpipe and a crushed neck. Nao squeezed her eyes closed, not childish enough to hope that when she opened them he’d be gone, or hope that this was all just a bad dream—even though she was living her nightmare. In the end, whether she clung to childish beliefs or thoughts to calm herself down, her situation hadn’t improved in the slightest. Nao was fairly certain that with how close Yakumo was to her, he could hear each heavy pound of her heart against her ribs. Could hear the staccato beat it took when he said, “I bet you even taste the same.”

  
At the threat of being his meal once again Nao jerked back to life, wrenching her jaw from the ghoul’s grip before she gave into her most basic instinct. She wasn’t sure if it was because it was the most predictable move to make in her type of situation, but the moment she ducked underneath his outstretched arm, she ran not three feet from him before she was yanked back by the roots of her hair. Her scalp stung were the strands of hair caught and broke, her head snapping back as her body bent awkwardly before she fell against his chest. 

  
Nao paid little mind to the body pressed against her back as she reached up and tried to pry the fingers from her hair. As his other arm wrapped around her middle, she twisted and writhed within his grasp, trying to break free and succeeding only when Yakumo released her hair. But only so that he could press the palm of his hand against her throat. 

  
Nao stilled slowly as his fingers curled into the sides of her neck, the webbing between his thumb and forefinger cutting into her windpipe, making it hard for her to breathe. Against her back she felt the low rumble of his laughter before she heard it through the rush of blood in her ears.

  
“You had more fight in you back then,” Yakumo mused, tilting her chin up so he could look in her eyes. Ever-present was her fear in her upside-down face, but what he wanted to see wasn’t there. The subtle shift of disappointment in his amusement was something Nao just barely took notice of before his hands fell from her body. Greedily she took the suddenly granted opportunity and bolted from him, her throat aching slightly as blood rushed back to color her face, and her lungs heaved as she sprinted towards the other end of the alley.

  
But at the very end, when she was little more than ten feet from safety, she stopped. And turned around. The only idea in her head was that the opportunity to run had been gifted to her on a silver platter, too easily given when moments before he had caught her easily. But where she expected him to be, he wasn’t. He was still standing in the middle of the alley, his hands thrust into his pockets, and his suit near luminescent in the muted darkness. And though his face was shrouded in darkness, Nao knew— _felt_ —he was _smiling_ at her. She froze like a deer in the headlights, waiting for him to make the first move. And when he did she turned back around and broke free of the alley, careening into the people walking past.

  
Between cries of alarm and twisted shouts of profanity and insults, Nao broke down in her panic and looked around frantically for a way out of the crowd of people she had stumbled into. Terrified, Nao looked back down the alley, both relieved and alarmed to find it empty.

  
_Run._

  
The single thought ran through her mind as she escaped the throng surrounding her and ran. Ran. Never stopping until her legs ached, her lungs burned, and she had well passed the street that would have taken her to the safety of her home.

  
But could she? Knowing that with those few short words, she would never be safe again? That he might show up again tomorrow or even tonight and eat her? Kill her?

  
Nao’s body turned ice cold despite the late summer air, her chest contracting painfully as she started to walk back towards her street. For a moment as she neared her apartment complex, Nao comforted herself with the idea that Yakumo would have killed her while she was still cornered like a mouse in the claws of a sadistic housecat. That if he had wanted to, he’d have killed her the second she stepped into that alley. But despite those whispers at the back of her mind, and the quick glances she took over her shoulder, Nao was still hyperaware of his heavy presence draping itself around her. Especially when taken into account the last thing he had said to her before she had ran from the alley.

  
“I’ll see you around, Nao-chan.”

  
As if meeting him this time wasn’t nerve-wracking enough.

  
|13|

  
Back before she had applied to work in the infamous ghoul prison known as “Cochlea”, before she had moved from the small town edging Tokyo, Nao and her mother had fought tooth and nail to keep the debt left to them by her father from killing them. Though of course Nao now knew there were much worse ways to die—being trapped in a cell with a starving ghoul was one such way she could think of. But back when she was a young adult, fresh out of high school and unprepared for the bitter hardships of life, Nao was under the assumption that the exhaustion and stress brought on by a multitude of part-time jobs and harassment of various kinds would be what killed them.

  
Sleep deprivation, exhaustion—both mental and physical—worry; Nao was no stranger to each, but being so fearful for her life that she dared not close her eyes and drift away from her reality was something she was not accustomed to. How long had it been since she had run into Yakumo? She liked to believe that it had been little less than a month, but her fits of paranoia and exhaustion made it seem like it was only yesterday that he had had her literally in the palm of his hand. She could still feel his touch on her neck; could still feel the heat of his breath against her ear and it terrified her.

  
If she thought that the dream she had had that morning was a premonition of his reappearance, Nao would have stayed home, would have walked the other way, or at the very least would have screwed around with Matsuru in a closet after work to avoid her worst nightmare.

  
But she didn’t. And now she was stuck in this unwinnable situation. She does nothing and she risks getting eaten by a viscous ghoul. She goes to the CCG and she gets taken into custody because of a psychopath’s vindictive testimony.

  
 _At least with the ghoul, Mom gets a payout,_ Nao thought apathetically as she struggled to keep her head up. Eventually she gave up and leaned her head against her hand, staring listlessly at the grains in the tabletop in the breakroom. Below her small wisps of steam from her coffee cup wafted past her nose, the coffee untouched as her mind slowly erased all thought and fell deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. For all she knew she could have sat there for hours and not have known it, so deep was the lack of sleep she had received in favor of staying somewhere in between sleep and awareness at home.

  
But in reality it had only been ten minutes, her break having ended a few minutes earlier.

  
Now prior to Nao’s break coming to an end, Matsuru had breezed through the room in search of his usual caffeine fix, and—if luck would have it—a small session with one of his women. It didn’t matter who. Ordinarily had Matsuru seen Nao dozing off in the break room, he would wake her, tease her, and move on with his usual routine. Today Nao wasn’t so lucky. Because of her reunion with death incarnate, Nao had pushed her friends and colleagues away, abandoning them to the light of their after-work activities so she could skirt the dark shadows and avoid running into Yakumo again. Nao liked to believe that she was doing this to keep them safe, and while it helped ease her conscience it did nothing to keep her from feeling lonely.

  
Unfortunately for her this included Matsuru, and what she didn’t know about him was that he was a vindictive man. So when after that first meeting, when Nao had been too terrified to leave her apartment—much less her bedroom—and missed their “meet-up”, Matsuru was less than thrilled. Even more so when the following weeks led to fleeting kisses and half-assed excuses. Truthfully he could live without the sex, but her outright avoidance of him was beginning to hurt him—or rather, maybe it was his ego that was beginning to bruise.

  
To his own credit Matsuru had taken notice of Nao’s noticeable mental decline, assuming it to be stress from her situation—for which he knew very little about aside from the “monthly payments” as she had put it. He’d thought at first to give her space, but now that the first week had turned into a month, he was getting antsy and a little spiteful. So when he saw Nao very near to nose-diving into her coffee, he walked past her towards one of the vending machines, bought his fix, and left without a sound; leaving the door open wide enough for someone to see her and wake her up.

  
He wasn’t cruel after all.

  
As it turned out the action wasn’t needed as Nao jolted herself awake when her head slipped off her palm, thankfully missing the rim of her flimsy coffee cup. Alarmed, she glanced around the room before her eyes stopped on the clock fixed to the wall. Briefly she wondered how long it would be before her supervisor noticed her absence. Nao raised her cup to her lips, lukewarm coffee coating her tongue in distaste before she set it back down on the table. Barely noon and she was crashing. Would she even make it to the end of the day? 

  
She glanced down at her hand, watching it twitch as a phantom pain spread through her forefinger and down her arm. Did she even want to stay until then? The precautions she had set, the people she had pushed away; all to avoid Yakumo. All to keep the people she cared about from getting hurt or worse.

  
And yet she was forced to continue to meet _him_ , because if she didn’t the amount would raise. And as it was it was difficult keeping the monthly payment separate from her monthly expenses.

  
 _I’ll just make up the time this weekend,_ she thought as she massaged her temple, another headache budding as she pulled her cellphone from her purse and dialed his number, relaying her plans to a voicemail before hanging up. Hopefully _he_ would get the message and meet her before the sun went down. Glancing back at the clock, Nao sighed as her eyelids began to droop and her mind began to shut down despite the caffeine.

  
This process. This routine. These situations…they were exhausting.

  
Reluctantly Nao downed the rest of her drink and made a face—though even if it were hot she knew the coffee was bitter and unappetizing. Maybe once things got back to normal, she’d look for a better coffee shop.

  
|13|

  
The sun was just beginning its slow decent over the tops of the high-rise buildings as Nao stepped out of the pristine lobby onto the dirty gray of the sidewalk. Prior to her leaving, she had called him twice more and caught him on the fourth ring. It wasn’t often that Nao called him, and when she did it was only to change the venue of their usual meeting place. I.e. Nao’s apartment, where—if he could help it—he would gladly eat her out of house and home.

  
With grim irony, Nao realized that the other _“him”_ in her life was probably planning to do a similar thing.

  
_Maybe I should just transfer. Or quit? No, it would take too long to find another job. And moving costs…_

  
“Are there even any openings at the other branches?” Nao asked herself as she walked, slowly drifting to a halt as she neared the rendezvous point. Nao didn’t know why she debated such things with herself. In a perfect life she would have put in a transfer order and have been done with this ordeal by now. In an even more perfect life she would not have met Yakumo at all again after that day. In an absolutely faultless life, Nao would not have to meet with Yakuza each month, and she could tell her Father how much she loved him every day.

  
But this was her life. Her reality. And though it was riddled with Yakuza gang members, five million Yen debts, a sadistic, bloodthirsty ghoul, and a womanizing jackass, it was hers.

  
Oh how much she wished it were someone else’s.

  
_All that money. All that effort. It’d be wasted, and for what?_

  
“For a sadistic killer who wants to toy with me until I break,” she replied to herself monotonously as she stared at her reflection in the storefront window. Hollow eyes stared back at her, set in a face as sallow as a corpse’ and holding a haunted expression. Nao wondered briefly, for a half-a-second or two if she looked to others as she looked to herself. Guessing—accurately—that the people inside were wary of thinking her alive until a jubilant voice replied to her otherwise self-directed answer.

  
“Sadistic? Maybe. And as for the toying…” the voice teased, startling Nao out of her thoughts as she glanced beyond her reflection’s shoulder before looking over her own. “Talk to me after a few drinks. Yer face isn’t really doing it for me today.” Nao sneered at the man as he approached, a careless saunter brought to a halt beside her. _Him_ , this man, was not the man that Nao’s father had owed money to. Rather he was that man’s lackey, and someone whom she knew very little about despite all the years they had been dealing with each other. All-in-all Nao knew exactly three things about him; his family name was not one of them.

  
“Ya know, I didn’t come all this way to get glared at. You got sumthin’ for me or not?” Kazuo asked her, a thin brow raised as he looked down at her somewhat suggestively.

  
Not to say that Nao didn’t find his overall behavior bordering on lewd, but when it came down to money the man was all business. And this business was a business Nao preferred to do in private. She could lie to herself and say it was to appease Kazuo for going out of his way to meet on her terms, but in truth the location was beneficial to her declining mental health.

  
And what better way to remove all inhibitions and worry than with alcohol.

  
“If we could go inside to make the, um…transaction?” Nao replied, glancing meaningfully behind her at the neon glaze of the bar. Kazuo’s face split as he smiled, looping an arm around her shoulders and ignoring her stiffness as he steered them through the doorway.

  
|13|

  
For certain it wasn’t the best idea—going out for a drink when she was being stalked by a ghoul—but in her muddled mind a brief reprieve from her terror-filled reality was more than welcome. As Kazuo took care of the bill—grumbling under his breath about the unfairness of the split despite having drunk six beers to her three—Nao fiddled with her purse, the wad of bills making up this month’s payment stuffed inside of it in an envelope.

  
“You gonna hand that over yet or not?” Kazuo sneered down at her as he pocketed his wallet before taking the crook of her right arm and leading her outside. Nao had planned for this visit to be short, to end with one quick drink and for her to be safe at home before the sun disappeared. But the circumstances had changed quickly as Kazuo hit his stride with one of the baristas and kept her from giving him the money. When he had finally given her his undivided attention the alcohol had had its way with her sleep-deprived brain and let the task slip from her mind until she had needed to dig through her purse for her portion of the bill. By then the sun had touched the horizon a few hours prior.

  
Nao bit her lip as she thought about the money, wondering if it would be safe in Kazuo’s hands before he delivered it to The Boss. “Maybe…maybe we should meet again tomorrow,” she suggested, her words slightly hurried as she was pulled along beside him. In the back of her mind Nao wondered if her words sounded as slurred as she thought they did, and debated whether she should repeat it again for Kazuo before he dispelled the idea.

  
“Kohana…” he started out, sighing as if it were a burden to explain this to her, “you don’t pay on time, you owe another ten thousand Yen. Remember?” His words were slow, his temperament as cool as the night air. As if he were controlling his patience.

  
Nao stumbled over her next words, not fully registering the warning tones her mind was propelling at her. “I don’t…You drank a l—” Nao was jerked to a stop beside him, her arm pinching painfully as Kazuo gripped it tight, snarling down at her between gritted teeth, “Don’t fuck with me, Kohana.” Nao’s mind cleared suddenly as she stared up at him in alarm. After a moment—barely a flick of a second—Kazuo’s fierce expression melted into softness as he cracked a lopsided smile and said lazily, “Come on. You can trust me with your money, Kohana-chan; you know that. I’m barely even buzzed.”

  
Here was the secondary reason Nao did not like meeting with him: he had a temper not unlike the men she had first met all those years ago who had harassed her mother for what little life insurance money there had been. But unlike them he was unpredictable and a bit bipolar, his outbursts frightening despite all that she had seen.

  
 _Old habits tend to die hard,_ Nao thought, weighing what he had said against what she already knew. If she could avoid a fine she’d happily give him the money, but if he lost it…The Boss might fault her. Seeing her falter under her own worry, Kazuo released her arm and kindly relieved her of her concern; offering to shoulder the blame should anything happen. The offer itself struck first as suspicious, and then as relief the more the initial shock drained, leaving behind her earlier warm buzz of unconcern.

  
Still, her fingers shook around her money as she handed the envelope over, watching mutely as he tucked it into the inner pocket of his cheap jacket. With a smile, Kazuo took her shoulder and gave it what he thought to be a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry; the money is going to a good cause.” The words—surely meant to make her feel better—struck a dull chord in her chest, pursing her lips as she looked away from him. “’ll see ya in a month. Unless you wanna…meet a little sooner?”

  
Nao shrugged off his hand, moving a step away as she made to leave for home. “I’ll see you next month, Kazuo-san,” she murmured, bowing her head slightly. After a sound of disappointment, and a mild sneer, Kazuo lifted his hand in a mock goodbye and turned on his heel, walking against the crowd.

  
Nao watched him until the auburn tips of his hair mingled with the chestnuts and ravens of dozens of others. It wasn’t until he had left her company that she found herself suddenly uncomfortable with the darkness and the people surrounding her. Nao glanced around as she walked, her eyes darting over every color suit imaginable and freezing when she spied out of the corners of her eyes dyed blond hair on kids her size.

  
Ordinarily Nao might have walked a little farther than was necessary, a little longer than what she’d been used to the last three years. But given the night’s turn of events and the general lateness, Nao wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Despite this however, Nao knew it was no fault of her own. Because something like this would have happened regardless, right?

  
It was only when the glare of a red light had stopped her when all along the way she had been able to move. Because it was only when she stopped that she noticed the people standing with her shifted glances and shuffled their feet in agitation. It was only when she remained still that she noticed how the people who glanced behind them in some minor form of curiosity, immediately regretted it, and turned back around. The women clung to the men they were with, and the men they were with moved slightly away. For the unlucky few who found themselves alone, they simply kept a weathered eye on the person worthy of their weariness. Slow in her reactions while her heart began to beat a mile a minute, Nao turned almost impulsively to see who the people in front of her were staring at, and had her gaze blocked by enormous wall of white.

  
“You’ve gotten careless, Nao-chan.”

  
Nao flicked her eyes up to Yakumo’s, irritation breaking out on her face—though she could not figure the reason—as she glared up at him, biting back under her breath, “Exhaustion breeds mistakes…Yakumo-san.” Nao knew this sudden act of bravery was due entirely to the alcohol still snaking through her brain, but even in the back of her mind she had the good sense to bit her tongue afterward and look forward again. Nao kept herself focused on the red light above barring them from moving into oncoming traffic, staring at it almost stubbornly as felt his hand slid onto her shoulder, and saw him move next to her in her peripheral vision.

  
“And which mistakes would that be?” he asked her, his voice light despite the steely grip he had on her shoulder—as if he thought she might try to run this time.

  
“…I’ve made too many to count,” she replied. Nao didn’t know what came over her to make her say those next words, but once they were out, she knew there was no going back. And strangely enough, she didn’t seem to care. “Though you probably know which ones they are.”

  
It was quiet between them for a moment as the words sunk into the air, their aggressive nature lost to the people around them as the light turned, and they were allowed to cross. The people behind flowed around them as they stayed fixed to that spot. Yakumo’s hand was neither lax nor hurtful, it simply stayed planted where he had lain it, keeping Nao tucked beside him once again. Nao glanced up at him, trying to gauge from his unreadable expression what he planned on doing now; if he planned to toy with her or finally kill her. What he said next seemed to favor the former.

  
“You look like you could use some coffee. Let’s go somewhere and…catch up, Nao-chan.”

  
With that simple sentence he turned away from the street corner, pulling her with him as he walked down the adjoining sidewalk. Nao could have broken down crying with how close she had been to the safety and security of her apartment. She very nearly almost did when she realized Yakumo had appeared from the sidewalk parallel—a mere block from her apartment building.


	7. Taste

Nao looked around her surroundings with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity—the latter of which was fueled solely by alcohol as it slowly burned away from fear. Around her, buildings rose high into a starless sky, their glassy façade pockmarked by the occasional square of light. Swaths of people thinned into stragglers and drunken groups as she and Yakumo passed them by. Whether there were so few people because of the late time, or because Yakumo had taken them to a more secluded area, Nao was unsure. She only knew that as they progressed, the further away her apartment grew.

  
Coffee. The statement had nearly caused her to laugh before the realization that he knew where she lived had steadied her tongue. But now that the shock had worn off, Nao found—despite her slight inebriation—that the suggestion of caffeine to counteract the alcohol was a confusing one. Humans must make for an easier target when intoxicated, so why try to sober her up? Unless of course alcohol makes people taste funny. Or maybe Yakumo wanted her to be more afraid of him than she currently was.

  
Regardless of the reason Nao let him steer her for this supposed pursuit of “coffee”, if only because when it came to alcohol its effects made her more loose-lipped and careless than she usually was, and she wanted to think more clearly for what was currently happening. 

  
“How long have you known?” Nao asked him quietly, glancing up at the curvature of his jaw before flicking her eyes forward again.

  
“How long do you think?” he laughed, the sound deep and vibrating within her bones. “All that scurrying you did was fun to watch.”

  
Nao’s lip curled in anger as she spat bitterly, “I’m sure my fear has been very enjoyable for you,” before abruptly twisting away from him, his hand squeezing her shoulder painfully the moment she did, and dragging her back in place beside him. “Let me go home! Or…or I’ll—” she burst, floundering for a threat before he cut her off with a sneer of disdain. 

  
“You’ll scream? You haven’t screamed yet, why should you now?”

  
Nao was silent before she replied near mutely, “…I don’t scream.” It was true that while she had been subject to many torments—a majority of which had to do with the Interrogator’s sick games or Yakumo’s own attempts at toying with her—she had never once screamed for help. One may attribute this to either fear-induced mutism or maybe stupidity, but Nao only ever remembered the last time she had screamed for someone to help, and the blatant stares she had received as she wept over the dismembered remains of her father wedged beneath the wheels of a train.

  
Of course, the last time Nao had truly screamed was one Yakumo enjoyed. “You did once,” he said, bending down to her level to murmur in her ear, “And I’ll make you do it again.” The ghoul laughed as Nao shriveled away as far as his hand would allow her, straightening back up to his full height as they slowed to a halt inside a narrow side street. 

  
Nao stared owlishly at the glowing exteriors of a short row of vending machines as Yakumo’s hand slid from her shoulder and went to his pants’ pocket. “So…so there was actually coffee…?” Nao asked somewhat incredulously. In all honesty she had expected him to lead her away into a dark, secluded alley, kill her, and eat her—hopefully in that order. Not to say that she didn’t still think this was his endgame, but she hadn’t fully expected him to take her somewhere for coffee.

  
 _Maybe humans do taste funny with alcohol,_ Nao thought as she watched the ghoul insert a few coins, and stoop to retrieve a can from the machine.

  
“You’re not going to try and run?” he asked, his back to her as he cracked the tab on the canister.

  
In her head Nao thought it rather pointless, but at the same time she seriously began debating it before the argument fizzled out in the light of avid curiosity. Nao openly stared as Yakumo brought the can up to his lips and tilted his head slightly back. After a few deep swallows Yakumo pulled the can away and looked at her over one massive shoulder. “What?” he said once, annoyed by the look of incredulity on Nao’s face before she bowed her head and looked away from him, shocked back into her usual submissive self.

  
“N-Nothing. I just…I didn’t know ghouls drank coffee,” she explained lightly, quickly, before she turned her attention to the vending machine, digging through all manner of odds and ends in her purse for a few coins. As soon as the hot canister was in her hands, Nao began to feel better—not necessarily about her situation, or even about the small amount of alcohol still sluggishly making its way through her brain. Maybe it was the simple pleasure of a hot drink in her cold hands. Or maybe it was just the alcohol slackening her mind.

  
Nao turned around, uncomfortable with her back facing him, and leaned against the warmth of the vending machine. Prior to now she had never known the machines were here, nestled in a narrow side street that didn’t look to be well used. Across from her Yakumo had leaned back against brickwork, one hand tucked into his pants’ pocket as he stared at her over the rim of his coffee. Contrarily, Nao kept him in her periphery vision—not quite looking at him, but not willing to let him out of her sight.

  
For Nao, the silence between them felt strange and unpleasant; for Yakumo it was a chance to observe her up close and personal now that she wasn’t quivering in fear.

  
“It used to be longer,” he remarked offhandedly as Nao brushed a short lock of dark brown hair behind one ear. Nao shrugged as she cracked the top of her lukewarm can and quietly nursed her drink. When she’d woken in that hospital bed, all she’d been dressed in was a paper-thin robe and gauze. The only evidence of her trauma beyond the obvious was the blood still matted in her hair. Sticky, stubborn, knotted; each tug upon her scalp as she’d done her best to wring out the blood had reminded her of a vicious hand. Her hair had still been dripping when she’d taken a pair of scissors to it; keeping the length near-ish to her chin ever since. Despite the length however, Yakumo had been able to catch her the last time she had tried to flee. It made her wonder if the proximity had been too close, or if the length was still too long.

  
“…Was it easy to grab?” Nao asked, more to the air than to the man four feet in front of her before quickly retracting the question. “D-Don’t answer that! I…I don’t want to know.” Nao couldn’t help but fidget with herself, her left hand split between smoothing down her hair every time a light breeze ruffled it and fiddling with the bottom edge of her blouse, all the while shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Like the month before Nao wanted to run, but she lacked two fundamental keys for doing so: opportunity and proper state of mind—the latter of which was due to her being a lightweight when it came to alcohol. If she had the chance to run, Nao would more so trust that she’d trip and fall, much less that she’d make it to the end of the street.

  
Yakumo kept eerily silent as she drank her coffee down to the dregs, her throat too exposed as she tilted her head back to catch the last beads of mild bitterness on her tongue. It might have been a placebo effect, but Nao felt her head clear little-by-little, the beginning thrums of a small headache blooming at her temples. She clutched the empty can to her, at a loss with what to do with herself aside from watch the man before her as he tossed away his coffee. The fear that had been edging her mind surged forward in a wave of unease. 

  
“Why…” Nao said, trailing off for a moment when Yakumo’s eyes flashed, his attention on her as she flinched before spitting out, “W-Why are you doing this?” Rather than answer her, he asked a question of his own.

  
“Why do you think?” She felt sure he was playing with her. Still, Nao’s brows bunched together as she thought about the reasons why he might have been doing this sort of thing; leading her away from more public areas, causing her anxiety to skyrocket with the promise of another “meet up”, maybe even lead her into a false sense of security. Nao’s only guess had to do with _that time. That time_ she had let the consequences be damned again and again despite her better judgement and prior threats by a madman.

  
“…I…I-I’m sorry,” Nao stuttered, her eyes dropping to a spot just above the ground, just high enough to see the top yellow button on his suit jacket in her peripheral. “I’m really…I’m so sorry…I—I’m sorry that I—” Nao was cut off as he raised his right hand, his thumb rubbing along the side of his index finger before pausing near the knuckle. Saw the finger bend down towards his palm before the _snap_ reached her, the sound reverberating in her ears along with the sound of empty aluminum hitting asphalt as her can fell from limp hands.

  
“What’re you sorry for?” he pressed, a smile playing along his lips, though Nao’s eyes were fixated on his hand, and on his shoes as he pushed off of the wall and started walking towards her. For half a second she expected him to be holding a knife or a hammer, or maybe even a pair of pliers.

  
Nao’s mouth gaped open several times before she stammered out, “I—I shouldn’t have—”

  
“You shouldn’t have taken those _stakes_ out of me?” Yakumo asked, his already low voice growing gruff as he; looming over her as she drew back from him, her back and her hands pressed tight against the heated surface of the vending machine. “You shouldn’t have _helped_ me?” Nao flinched as he pressed the palms of his hands flat against the Plexiglas on either side of her head, caging her beneath his body once again.

  
“NO! I—I mean—” Nao was cut off as he stooped down to her level, his eyes boring into hers as he finished her excuse.

  
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved?” 

  
Nao’s heart hammered in her chest as she saw with full clarity the severity of her situation. _Revenge. Revenge. He wants to kill me. He’s_ going _to kill me!_ ran like a loop as her mouth stumbled over one single syllable; trailing off in silence as Yakumo broke into a lazy grin. Tears pricked her eyes as black clouded white sclera and vibrant red irises stared down at her. “Who said I wanted an apology?” Nao’s lower lip trembled as she felt the pads of his fingers touch her neck, creeping along the nape and into her hair before they twisted around the loose strands. 

  
As the roots of her hair was yanked from her scalp, Nao gasped in pain as her head was wrenched further back against the vending machine, bearing the smooth column of her neck to the man before her—or rather: exposing one of the most vulnerable parts of her to a man-eating ghoul. As Yakumo stooped down closer to her, Nao squeezed her eyes shut, nearly hyperventilating as her jaw trembled and her heart beat out of control. Nao was so certain that he would be able to feel it the moment his teeth sank into her windpipe, that she was making it worse for herself by making her blood pump faster.

  
How ironic that her heart only stopped when what she felt—rather than searing pain in her neck—was a heavy pressure against her mouth.

  
Nao’s eyes flew open in shock before they closed again, wriggling beneath the ghoul as he pressed his lips against her more forcibly. Her hands grabbed at the fabric covering his chest, unsure of what to do besides just cling there. Should she try and push him away? Try to claw at his face? More than anything Nao was confused and…just a little disturbed. What was happening? What was he doing? The more she wiggled and wormed—her lips and jaw locked so hard her teeth hurt—the tighter his hand wrapped around her hair.

  
And then she felt the curl of his other hand’s forefinger cradling her chin, the pad of his thumb pressing hard into the dip below her lower lip. Nao’s jaw ached as it was lowered millimeter-by-millimeter, the tight seam of her lips parting beneath Yakumo’s as he all but devoured her. Though how else could she describe the way he moved against her mouth as anything besides _hunger_. Especially when she felt something slippery and wet slide along her bottom lip.

  
 _Tongue!_ Nao whimpered as the fleshy appendage snaked its way into her mouth, her hands tightening around the material of Yakumo’s jacket as his tongue invaded her mouth. Nao’s heart beat erratically in her chest as she felt it rub along her tongue, even as it shrank back as far towards her throat as was possible. 

  
Contrary to the fearful thoughts that had been filling her mind mere moments prior, Nao now only thought of one: _Why?_ Why on earth was he doing this? Why was he not ripping her throat out and eating her flesh? Though the moment she thought such a thing was the moment Yakumo’s tongue withdrew from her mouth, and she felt the sharp edge of his teeth grate against her lower lip just before a sharp pain lit her senses.

  
“AH!” Blood welled up from the tear in her lip, the metallic taste strong in her mouth as Yakumo lapped at the spilt blood with a lazy flick of his tongue. Nao pushed against the tough muscle of his chest, pursing her lips despite the throbbing. Indulging in her fit he pulled away from her, his body still looming over her too close for comfort; his hand dropping from her face while the other stayed knotted in her hair. Nao released one fistful of his jacket’s lapel to simultaneously cover her mouth and wipe at the bit of blood spilling from the cut he had made.

  
Nao’s lip began to throb painfully as she stared up at him with wide toffee-colored eyes, her fear no more than a gleam in the corner as she looked at him with a mixture of shock, confusion and pain. One corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as his tongue sneaked out to sweep across a dot of blood on his lower lip. A faint-pink stripe colored Nao’s cheeks and nose as her eyes flicked between the black sclera receding from his eyes and the motion.

  
“Why did you do that?” she asked him, her voice muffled below her hand.

  
“I wanted to taste you again,” was his plain answer, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulder. As though what he’d just done was normal, as though he hadn’t just kissed her—albeit for the reason he had just stated.

  
Nao narrowed her eyes at him, halfway fuming as she tried to decide what she should feel more of: frustration, fear, or just plain annoyance.

  
She settled on fear as the slight smile on Yakumo’s face slipped into a frown, a flicker of irritation flashing through his eyes as he bent down closer again. Nao kept her hand pressed tight across her mouth as Yakumo nearly buried his flattened nose in the crook between her shoulder and neck; frozen in place as he inhaled whatever had trigged him.

  
“Who were you with?” His voice was low against her ear, the gravelly quality of it highlighting his annoyance at having smelt a human male’s scent draped so close to her. Nao winced as the fingers in her hair readjusted their grip, pulling at the roots as the ghoul pulled away until he was just barely a few centimeters from her nose. His breath fanning her lips as he growled low both an accusation and a taunt, “You got yourself a lover boy?”

  
Nao ignored the mocking tone in his voice as she swallowed the mixed blood and saliva slowly pooling in her mouth. Who had he smelled? Matsuru? Kazuo? Both wore cloying cologne, but only Kazuo had been close to her that day. For the briefest second she considered that it might be Matsuru he had smelled, but immediately eliminated the possibility. How could it be him when the last time they had been intimate was a month ago? When the last time they had been close even in a casual sense, it had been nearly a week?

  
Nao dropped her hand from her mouth, and the other from Yakumo’s suit jacket. Lover boy? Matsuru was barely even a friend-with-benefits. She cast her eyes away from the reds boring down at her, looking down the long end of the side street as she replied bitterly, “No one you need concern yourself with.”

  
“Is there a problem here?”

  
Nao jumped at the suddenness of another male voice, only a few octaves higher than the man before her, and originating from her left. Nao looked on reflex towards the sound as the brightness of a flashlight cut through the muted light of the side street. For a split second beyond the ray, Nao found two men in what looked to be blue policemen’s uniforms before flicking her gaze up towards Yakumo. While his face seemed to be devoid of either interest or emotion, Nao saw the slight tick of annoyance in his eyes as they narrowed at the intruding men.

  
“Miss, are you okay?” asked the other as he flicked the flashlight off, his voice softer and kinder than his partner’s.

  
Yakumo turned his face slightly away from Nao towards them, replying impatiently, “We’re fine here—”

  
“Sir, please back away,” the first demanded, raising a hand as if to gesture what he wanted, “Miss, we’d like to talk to you for a bit…alone.” In the brief hesitation—though Nao could not confirm given the low lighting of their surroundings—Nao felt that the first had looked towards Yakumo, and she began to get an image of how they must look to the policeman pair: a small, haggard-looking woman—courtesy of the last few weeks and these most recent minutes—and a large, intimidating man who looked all the part of a loan-shark or a Yakuza.

  
“Tch.” Yakumo’s fingers slipped from her hair as he dropped his hand, his body angling away from her as he moved to take a step towards the officers. Before Nao knew what she was doing, her left hand had shot out to grab his jacket’s sleeve, momentarily keeping Yakumo where he stood as he cast a curious look down at her.

  
“ _Please,_ ” Nao whispered, scarcely moving her lips as she whispered a plea, “ _Please don’t kill them. I—I’ll get rid of them._ ” Nao moved closer to him until her feet were between his own, her words still low as the police offers began to grow antsy. “ _I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want, but please don’t hurt them._ ”

  
Nao had shifted her face away from the officers’ view, untrusting of how desperate and paranoid she must look as she asked for a favor from the ghoul touted as _Friday’s Reaper_. As the annoyed frown warmed into a devious smirk—his eyes more lizard-like than before—Nao knew her suspicions were true. Despite the cold finger running along her spine, Nao chose to take this reversal as acceptance of her deal, and spoke plainly and clearly—more to the officers than to the man in front of her.

  
“Yakumo-s—kun, it’ll only take a few minutes. I’m sure the nice officers have more important things to do tonight.” With that, Nao worked to smother her fear and panic until only a small smile remained on her face, and dropped her hand from his arm as she went to talk to the two men who had since been eyeing them suspiciously.

  
“Miss, are you okay? Do you need help?” the kind one asked as he took her by the crook of her arm and led her closer to the entrance of the side street, well out of ear shot (they supposed) of the frightening-looking man.

  
“No, I’m alright,” Nao replied with a smile, pursing her lips as she licked at the blood still leaking from the cut in her mouth. She hoped she looked half as convincing as she thought she sounded, but either she was a terrible liar—which wasn’t far from the mark—or the first officer was just an extremely untrustworthy individual.

  
“If you’re in trouble, just blink twice,” he murmured to her under his breath, staring at her eyes very pointedly with only a few glances thrown over her shoulder.

  
“I’m um—I’m not,” Nao repeated, fidgeting in her steps as she peeked back over her shoulder. Yakumo had stayed where she had left him, his hands tucked into his pockets and looking very much like a predatory cat as he watched her try to get the two policemen to leave. “Could I—could I go back now? We were busy talking,” she spoke quietly, turning back to the pair just in time to catch a shared look of surprise.

  
“Do—Do you know this man?”

  
“We’re… _acquaintances_. Well, I mean…sort of?” They shared a look of disbelief, “We met around three years ago; the Company I used to work for had a few…financial issues, you see,” Nao explained, playing into what she knew they thought of the man behind her. “It just sort’ve happened. You can ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  
A beat of silence passed between the Nao and the pair before they turned away from her, and started murmuring to one another. Nao felt a pit open at the bottom of her stomach as she watched them alternate glances between her and Yakumo, their expressions wary bordering on suspicious. Despite her attempt Nao remained tense as she fought against her better instincts to keep her limbs from fidgeting. By the time the first had scoffed and turned away to walk back towards the main street, Nao, who had been trying to ignore the black shadow hanging behind her and probably waiting for her to fail, felt like her body was being wrung out; her upper back aching with how ramrod straight she had kept her spine.

  
Her brows furrowed in confusion as she watched him walk away before looking back at the kind officer who offered very little in way of explanation for his partner’s behavior aside from a simple shrug of his shoulders, and a disarming smile. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. As long as you feel safe, Miss,” the kind one replied with a flicker of a glance over her head. Shock rang through Nao’s head before she gathered herself and bowed her head, hiding her face behind the short tendrils of her hair as she—very quickly—apologized for causing them trouble.

  
Nao did not raise her head until the officer’s shoes had left her field of vision; neither did she turn back towards Yakumo until the two pairs of footsteps receding down the street turned into the low hum of the vending machines beside her. When she turned, however, she was greeted with a low murmur of laughter as Yakumo took long strides towards her. Her spine hardened into that ramrod figure as he towered over her, one hand combing back his blond hair as he snickered down at her,

  
“You thought I’d kill them?”

  
Nao said nothing as a small jolt of realization raced through before it was smothered by the murderous intent she had seen firsthand. She now owed him a favor, but she wouldn’t believe that she’d been tricked.

  
“Yes,” she replied evenly, small though her voice sounded.

  
The ghoul dropped his hand to his side, his fingers flexing until he bent one down. Another snap caused her to flinch. “You think I wanna kill you?” he asked, his prior amusement ebbing now that they had gone full circle.

  
Nao hesitated with her answer. Though it had been on the tip of her tongue, ready to jump, she’d registered with embarrassment and confusion the throbbing of her lips, and the slight pain on the inside of her mouth. Right before a mild ache ran through her left fingers, and shivered up her bones, and caused her to reply with a definitive, “…Yes.”

  
Nao barely saw the flicker of his white suit as he bent his body down beside her, his lips grazing her ear as he murmured both a threat and a promise.

  
“Don’t forget. You owe me more than just your life.”

  
Small shivers wracked Nao’s body as her lungs shuddered for breath. The man had been no less than five feet away from her, and she’d scarcely seen him move until her nose was practically buried in his shoulder. The pungent aroma of meat and a deeper smell of musk clung to the air around her as Yakumo stood to his full height, and walked past her out of the side street. Casting over his shoulder the briefest twitch of a sly smile as Nao stared at nothing while her body continued to shake. 

  
Nao ran the tip of her tongue over the long tear on the inside of her lip. Though she still tasted the bitterness of black coffee, she could also still taste metal—though the blood had long since clotted. For the first time that night, however—really from the first time she had smelled him—she hoped to God that the blood she tasted was her own.


	8. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for disappointing sexual situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double update?! On MY story?! Yes, I need to get caught up faster. Don't get used to these daily updates, I am WILDLY inconsistent usually thanks to life, writer's block, and distracting media content.

The usual din of the office chatter was a low murmur in her ears as she stared down at her disfigured hand. Moments earlier a phantom pain had shot through her missing index finger, burning at her knuckle before drifting lazily along her inner wrist; vanishing a few seconds later. Nao wasn’t sure how long she had been staring at it, her eyes locked on the faint indentations of Yakumo’s teeth marring her skin.

  
_You owe me more than just your life._

  
The words had been playing like a broken record in her head the last four days, leaving her no less exhausted than the last month she had spent in fear, but more so resigned to what seemed to be her fate.

  
Back then, when he had walked away and left her in that side street, Nao had gone into a state of confusion and shock before eventually succumbing to her terror and anxiety. Falling to her knees in a gritty place, illuminated only by cheap neon and dim fluorescent light as she choked back heaving sobs. Wet drops of salt soaked her hand as she held back hysterical sounds of frustration. Eventually, much later than she cared to think about, she dragged herself to her feet, her knees scrapped and joints aching as she retraced what she could remember of the path they had taken.

  
Over the course of the weekend Nao had stayed within her apartment, never venturing out, never so much as opening the door. Instead she had stayed in bed, hugging her pillow as she stared at the wall across from her; contemplating all the possible ways he would take more than just her life. When her small break ended, and she was forced to leave her veritable safe haven, she’d gone back into her usual routine—albeit with fewer anxieties over when and where she could possibly run into the ghoul again. 

  
By now she had begun to learn that Yakumo was now a constant in her life, as unwanted as the petty thug she met with once a month. A problem with no solution.

  
 _No, that’s not right. Problems have solutions; this is a nightmare,_ Nao thought, dragging her eyes away with slight difficulty to focus back on her computer screen, not at all surprised to the see that the monitor had gone black. “Life’s just fucking filled with nightmares,” she cursed, tapping a key to get her work back. Comparably, the payment system she had been working with the last seven years had been a choppy river ride while the last several weeks had been a torrential plunge down a waterfall—both had their issues, but one posed a greater a threat to her health and wellbeing.

  
But while Nao liked to think the constant haranguing for money she didn’t have, or the “odd” jobs she had been forced to take to supplement the loss in income were far more pleasant than the physical violence and bodily threats Yakumo had presented to her, they weren’t. Or…at the very least they used to be.

  
Now she had the ever-present memory of black coffee and blood on her tongue, and feel of roughness against her lips. Very easily he could have bit into her shoulder, or torn off her ear for the “taste” he seemed to want, yet instead he had gone a route far less painless and far less permanent than the previous “bite” he had given her. It made her want to question what the goals of Yakumo’s pursuit of her was, but given what he had said, she had a feeling she knew what it was he wanted aside from her death.

  
Nao’s fingers paused on the keys, crinkling her brows as she set aside her work and opened up the browser on the computer. Were ghouls always this complicated? How could she have ever known given how rarely she had talked to the ones she was paid to clean up after. Or was it just that this one was far more confusing given what he had been through. _You go through hell, you’re bound to come out with some wear and tear._ Nao glanced over the various articles documenting attacks and more well-known killers; focusing intently when the words “Jason”, “Demon of the Thirteenth”, and even mentions of other Thirteenth Ward ghouls came up on her screen.

  
Before Nao could click on a more promising link, she was startled out of her concentration as a mocking, disapproving voice told her over her shoulder, “Best do that on your own time before the bosses catch you, Kohana-chan.” Nao looked behind her, calming somewhat as she took in Matsuru’s amused smile.

  
“Yeah, I’ll just—I’ll look at this later,” she agreed, turning back in her seat to delete the web pages. But not before Matsuru caught a glimpse of what she’d been reading.

  
“Why are you looking that stuff up anyway? You know, given what happened and all,” he asked her, tossing a discrete look down at her mangled arm and hand before shifting his expression back into a passive one.

  
“I…I just—I wanted a little insight,” Nao replied haltingly, unknowing of the slight look of disgust he had given the result of her unfortunate accident, but otherwise uncaring of him as she thought over what she had learned from her paltry research.

  
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about those monsters here,” he smirked over her shoulder, pocketing his hands as he leaned his hip against her desk.

  
Stunned, Nao looked up at him. “What—what do you mean?”

  
“One through four are pretty much safe havens,” Matsuru explained, “Especially with the CCG Headquarters close by.”

  
“Really?”

  
Matsuru regarded her surprise with curiosity, having assumed her injury was a major part of her reason for where she currently was. In all honesty, the only reasons Nao had for moving to the Third Ward was a combination of the distance from the Twenty-Third, the easy-going—albeit dull—office job opportunities, and an overall ignorance that the Ward Yakumo hailed from was nestled on the other side. “Isn’t that the reason you moved here?”

  
“I…I knew it was near headquarters,” Nao answered truthfully, realizing with embarrassment the depths of her ignorance in all things ghoul-related, “but is it really that well protected?”

  
“Well, I mean,” Matsuru began, flexing his shoulders back as he turned from resting his hip to all but sitting on the edge, “it’s not like there aren’t _any_ ghouls. But Wards One through Four are pretty much protected through-and-through ‘cause of all the investigators.”

  
“Oh,” was Nao’s simple answer as she looked away from him, staring back at her computer screen as she absorbed this new-found information. For a brief moment Matsuru took in the dark circles marring her lids, the sickly pallor of her usual peach complexion, and the hallowed look in her golden-brown eyes as she stared at an article about the Thirteenth before clicking out of the window. 

  
“Hey…” he began hesitantly, “are you doing anything later?”

  
“Laundry,” she answered pointblank, not even sparing him a glance as she pulled her work back up on the screen, scowling as she took in the jumbled mess of a schedule she had prepared. “Maybe some grocery shopping.” Only if her bills didn’t empty the rest of her paycheck.

  
“You wanna do something later?”

  
Nao twitched as she glanced up at him wearily. “Like what?”

  
Mistaking her concern for his safety for a lack of funds, Matsuru broke into a wide smile; all gleaming white teeth and crinkled brown eyes as he snickered under his breath, “How ‘bout the thing we’ve been doing the last couple years?”

  
Of course, the thing they’d been doing was each other. And as much as Nao wanted to keep him out of her problems, a weaker part of herself wanted the distraction. Needed the break from her sordid reality.

  
_Problems have solutions; but nightmares have ends—however brief it is._

  
|13|

  
Nao hugged herself against the wind, fighting against the urge to go back inside the lobby as she waited for Matsuru to finish his work. People continued to slowly mill out of the building, chattering amongst themselves and throwing half-hearted “Good nights’” to Nao as they passed. Nao smiled politely and returned each, biting her inner cheek as another bracing wind blew against her.

  
It wasn’t as if Nao didn’t have thoughts about bailing on Matsuru tonight. Maybe it was the previous nights of sleep deprivation preying on her sexual frustration, or the mere thought of the last time she had felt truly pleasured rather than when she had been left “high-and-dry” that Nao didn’t want to think of the danger hanging over her head.

  
Or maybe she just wanted to forget her worries for a little while.

  
Looking through the glass behind her, Nao almost let out a sigh of relief as Matsuru stepped off the elevator and into the lobby; briefcase in one hand as the other combed back his thick brown hair. Matsuru had the sort of good looks he knew he could flaunt, and the ego to back it up. As if to prove this, he caught a kiss the receptionist at the front desk blew to him from the palm of her hand. Nao bit back a scowl, and let the flare of jealousy roll through her in dull waves.

  
 _It’s a fling. It’s just a stupid fling._ But she wasn’t entirely sure if her thoughts were directed at herself or at the receptionist Nao knew he was screwing. Almost immediately her thoughts were cast back several days to the moment Nao realized what she had meant to him. Just a friend-with-benefits. And as Matsuru breezed through the door, giving her a pleasant smile as he casually wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Nao recalled the type of friend he’d been to her the last several weeks.

  
Dismissive, vacant, and just a little spiteful when on the occasion she had asked how he was doing.

  
 _But I was trying to avoid getting him hurt. Maybe I’m giving him mixed signals?_ Nao tried to reason with herself, peeking up at him as he talked to her about his boss and the “idiots up in Seventh”. Occasionally he would look down at her when she was slow to respond, accepting Nao’s tightlipped smiles and murmurs of agreements before carrying on the one-sided conversation. Nao didn’t mind the lack of inclusion; she was happy enough to listen to his voice and forget.

  
 _Just for an hour, I’d like to forget,_ Nao thought, resting her head against Matsuru’s shoulder, breathing in the heady scent of his cologne, and taking mild pleasure from the warmth of his body shielding her from the cool breezes. _Even for five minutes._

  
_Snap!_

  
Through the mindless chatter of the people around her—and the louder droning beside her—Nao had heard the sickening sound so clearly. As if her ears had been trained to recognize it. But it could easily be something like a fallen twig from a tree branch breaking under someone’s shoe, or at the very least the snap of a flip phone as someone close by ended a call. Though she tried to quell her worry with these thoughts, her eyes still darted about; her body tensing against Matsuru’s as the occasional blonde teenager crossed her line of sight.

  
“Hey, are you alright?” Matsuru asked her when he noticed her sudden weariness of the route they had taken more than a dozen times together. “You look a little… _bit more_ pale.”

  
“I—I…It’s nothing.” Nao rolled her shoulders, trying to relax them under Matsuru’s stiff arm, “I just thought I heard something.” When she didn’t hear the sound again, Nao let it slide to the back of her mind, letting it become a baseless sound among the many around her.

  
“Is my little Nezumicchi-chan afraid?” Matsuru cooed, pulling on her shoulder to drag her further against his body, ignoring—or maybe he was just ignorant—the flash of bitterness that crossed her face. “Don’t worry, I’m right here with you.” In any other circumstance, the sentiment might have been comforting—even in her normal circumstances, the assurance would have made the center of her chest feel warm. But it just served as a reminder that he was here next to her. His smell would be all over her.

  
This decision was nothing but a hazard.

  
And yet, as Matsuru’s apartment came into view—and as he led her into the comfort of his home—those thoughts fell away as easily as dominoes. Nao nearly closed her eyes in relief when she heard the door click shut. When she felt Matsuru’s arms wrap around her waist—his lips pressing against her neck, following the line of her collarbone as his deft fingers made light work of the buttons on her blouse—she fell into the warmth and security his touch had afforded her the past three years. 

  
Step-by-step she followed him in this rehearsal—turning in his arms and locking her wrists around his neck. One of his hands sliding under the flaps of her open blouse and following the curves of her waist, while the other cupped the back of her head. Nao unconsciously flinched at the feel of fingers in her hair, the slight twinges on her scalp as her short hair was tugged. But as easily as the flicker had appeared, it had disappeared when Matsuru brought her focus back with a simple rub of his thumb over a pointed peak.

  
As Nao mewled at the touch on her breast, Matsuru rasped in her ear, “You’ve gotten more sensitive since we were last together, haven’t you Kohana-chan?”

  
In answer, Nao dropped her arms from around his neck and plucked out the tails of his shirt from his waistband, placing open mouthed-kisses down his chest in time with her fingers as she twisted each button loose. Matsuru chuckled at the ministrations, rubbing her head affectionately before grabbing her right bicep and pulling her up when she had drifted to the line of hair trailing above his slacks.

  
“How badly have you been hurting, Kohana-chan?” he asked her gently, a teasing edge to his lowered voice as he began backing them towards his bed. Nao’s shirt fell from her shoulders, followed closely by her skirt as Matsuru guided her down atop the comforter. His hands splayed over her thighs as he wedged himself between her knees.

  
Nao left herself get drunk on the soft caresses on her body, the slide of fabric against her skin as her undergarments joined the rest of her clothes on the floor. Soft mewls and groans filled the empty air as Matsuru rocked against her, lifting her hips for more leverage to drive against her harder. Their bodies grew warm and slick with sweat, Matsuru’s cologne sticking to her body as she held him closer to her trembling chest. For all appearances Nao was blissful and ignorant to the world and its problems, caught up as she was in the pleasure Matsuru was giving her. And yet…

  
And yet she couldn’t help but compare his kindness to her devil’s cruelty. 

  
Matsuru was so much slimmer, softer than the body that had pressed her against the wall of an alley, had held her back against its chest. The press of his mouth was much more brief and cool; dissociating between the task at hand and the simple desire. Matsuru’s hands…they skimmed along the surface of her belly and breasts, grasping and prodding where they thought most pleasurable. Had they ever really held her when she was in his arms, or had he simply pressed them to her to hold her in place? Had he ever grasped her as if at the first sign she might run away from him? Maybe this was how he had always treated her: close enough to touch, but never really take. Maybe this was how he treated all the women he’d been seeing. _Screwing._

  
Nao wasn’t sure of the answers, but she knew two simple things as he shuddered above her and expelled into the condom: She still wasn’t satisfied with what she was getting from Matsuru. And that what she had wanted was a break, not a reminder.

  
|13|

  
“You can stay over if you want,” Matsuru told her, as he lounged against his pillows, watching with a greedy eye as she pulled her panties on.

  
“I don’t have a change of clothes here,” Nao replied as she slid her skirt up over her hips, ignoring the low whistle Matsuru gave her backside as she bent down to retrieve her blouse, slipping that on next. One hand smoothed the wrinkles against her body while the other fussed with her hair, straightening the messy bob from the mussing it had gotten. “And I wouldn’t have time to go back home in the morning.”

  
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Kohana-chan,” he replied in turn, sitting up only to pull her down to his level, pecking her briefly on the lips. Nao returned the slight gesture as much as she got before turning for the door, grabbing her purse off the floor along the way as she left the apartment. Behind her she was sure that Matsuru was still lounging languidly like a feline; Nao in turn scowled like one as she noticed the short amount of time that had passed on her phone.

  
Nao would have liked to have stayed longer—

  
No, that wasn’t quite true. What she would’ve liked was to have confided in him—in her friends—her troubles, the monster haunting the dark corners of her nightmares. As it was they probably assumed the stress of the debt was getting to her. But confiding in Matsuru—as she was beginning to find out—was probably pointless in and of itself given the nature of their “relationship”. Neither could she tell the few friends she had—including her best and oldest, Misa—without fear of endangerment.

  
As she walked—aimless since she had, at the moment, no inclination to return home so early—she thought about the turn her life had taken since that day the train had ploughed over her father’s body mercilessly. Less than a week later, after the funeral—had it been that day? Or the day after—those men had come, looking both sleek and sleazy in collared suits, pounding on her mother’s door and demanding what little money her husband had left behind, forcing her to do things she never thought she would.

  
Did Nao regret what she had done to repay the debt? She tried to never let herself think about it, les she grow to despise her father for the positions he had forced his wife and child into to protect a dying business. When she did think about them, however…

  
_I’ll never regret trying to nullify it…but…I’ll always hate what we had to do._

  
Nao slowed to a stop, her surprise eroding into an emotion reminiscent of begrudging acceptance. Was it because she had seen him so many times the past month that his presence no longer surprised her? Appalling, but not unlikely; she had just begun to learn to accept the seemingly constant appearance.

  
Yakumo leaned against the mouth of an alleyway, surveying the crowd before him with disinterest, and uncaring of the weary, suspicious looks tossed at him. Initially Nao had felt the increasingly familiar sensation of panic, tension threading through her wrung-out body before it collected in the center of her chest as a heavy feeling of dread.

  
Did he know she would be coming this way? How could he when two weeks before his sudden reemergence into her life, was the last time she had slept with Matsuru. There always left the chance that Yakumo could have followed her, had been the source of the sound that set her already strung out nerves on edge. But why not just wait outside of Matsuru’s building to ambush her.  
No. There was always the possibility that he was in the Third Ward for an entirely separate reason apart from driving her mad. The longer she hid amidst the crowd, watching him as he fixated on something across the street, the clearer it became—although the purpose still eluded her.

  
“Move it, _hag!_ ”

  
Several shoulders rammed into her as she was tossed back and forth between annoyed people. Stunned, Nao could only think to apologize, ripping her eyes from Yakumo as she scurried to the edge of the sidewalk, huddling against the granite wall of a building as she clutched her purse protectively in front of her chest, trying to ease her shattered heartrate.

  
 _Since when is twenty-five old?_ She grumbled to herself irritably before looking back towards the alleyway. Nao was relieved to find that despite the spectacle she was sure she had made of herself, Yakumo had seemed to be wholly ignorant of her. That said, Nao was curious as she watched him step away from the alley, pausing at the edge of the street as he looked further down the road. _What is he looking for?_

  
Her curiosity was cut short when a quick breeze blew past her, whipping her hair into her face and obscuring her vision for the short amount of time it took the massive ghoul to pick up her scent. His nostrils flared as another, more cloying stench tangled with the pleasing, cortisol-soaked mild sweetness. Tilting his head towards the source, Yakumo’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Nao all but cowering no less than a dozen feet away; his mouth settling into a mean line as she flinched.

  
Neither looked away from the other; staring at each other as people weaved between them. Nao just barely caught the shift in his eyes when he crooked a finger for her to come over. Hesitantly, Nao inched away from the wall. Would running do her any good? It might if he was preoccupied with something else, but rather than take the chance, Nao did as he gestured, stutter-stepping her way over to his side as he turned his attention elsewhere.

  
“How long have you been here?” she asked tentatively, inclining her head to try and see what he was seeing, but no matter how much she craned her neck she saw only taxis, cars and nondescript people.

  
“Does it matter?” Yakumo asked in turn.

  
“Please…just answer the question, Yakumo-san.” Nao was tired of having more questions than answers. At the very least he could answer this small one, if only to put her anxieties from earlier to rest. To know that hadn’t just been paranoid.

  
“Yamori.”

  
Nao looked up at him, brows drawn in confusion. “What?”

  
“Call me Yamori,” he repeated, never once looking at her.

  
Nao vaguely remembered hearing something similar a month prior, just before he had very nearly given her a heart attack with his more widely known alias. “…Yamori-san,” Nao replied at length, as though testing the unfamiliar name on her tongue.

  
The grim line of his mouth twitched, neither a smile nor a frown before he flicked his red irises down at her. “You’re wasting your time with your lover boy; he stinks of others,” Yakumo— _Yamori,_ Nao reminded herself—informed her.

  
A twinge of hot irritation ran through her. She didn’t need him telling her what she’d known the last three years. Or maybe she just didn’t want to hear it said out loud. Instead she replied—bitterly—“What I do, and who I do it with, is none of your concern.” He shrugged one massive shoulder, the subject dropping between them as a pensive silence rose up.

  
“If you’re…busy with something else…” Nao began hesitantly, still unsure about his reason for being in the Third Ward, “then I’ll just take my leave.” Before she could take a step away, her upper arm was caught in a steel-grip. Yakumo— _Yamori_ —still didn’t look at her as he told her to stay.

  
Nao didn’t think she was narcissistic—given the malicious things she’d seen inflicted on beings much stronger than she was, she knew others had it much harder than she did. To an extent she had believed that to be true of the man beside her; or at least it had been three years ago. But even so, the longer they stood together on that sidewalk, nothing but silence between them as he stared at something she couldn’t see, the more sure she became of him following her. “I just wanted to forget for a little while, but you won’t even let me have that, will you,” she said before she could think, her teeth biting down hard on tongue as Yaku— _Yamori_ —flicked his eyes down at her again.

  
For a moment she thought he might sneer at her or mock her, and she was right to a point. His eyes dragged over her body, slowly, _uncomfortably_ , making her shift from one foot to the other. A corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk as he replied, “You sure it’s not your lover boy leaving you disappointed?”

  
Nao scowled at the insinuation—no matter how true it was—her silence all but denying the accusation. She might as well have done something childish and told him to shut up. At the very least—if she were that kind of person—she’d have stuck her tongue out at him.

  
If she weren’t so sure he’d bite it off.

  
Ignoring his delighted smirk Nao shook off her growing frustration, blatantly changing the subject. “Why are you stalking me?” she furiously whispered under her breath, glaring up at him after glancing around to make sure no one was listening in.

  
His smirk twitched down a couple millimeters. “Who said I was?”

  
“You’ve run into me— _twice_. You know where I live, where I work…” Nao listed each miniscule factoid she had, trailing off only when the most glaring of his confusing transgressions crossed her mind. “You kissed me,” she finally spat out, as hushed as a murmur.

  
Yamori scoffed at her, his lips curling in distaste as he turned his eyes away, going back to surveying the sidewalk opposite them. “Don’t get any ideas; I just wanted a taste,” he replied, a beat passing before something in his bored expression changed, a kind of pensiveness taking over him as he spoke—seemingly more to himself than to her, “You taste a little less sweet than back then.” Nao bristled at the comment, looking him up at down to gauge his actions as he slipped a hand from his pocket and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the joint of his index. “Wonder if your flesh is still as tender.” Was it Nao’s rampant imagination, or had his vice gotten…rougher? “Maybe this time I’ll take a leg.” He flicked his red eyes down at her, a sort of heat in them that Nao could not describe as either hungry or…something else.

  
Neither was sure that he was simply messing with her. “…If you really wanted to, you could have. So what are you waiting for?” she asked him hesitantly, biting her tongue at the challenging tone that had broken into her voice.

  
A sly smile was all the answer she got before the amusement left his face, his eyes narrowing as he looked back down the street. Nao thought she saw the barest twitch of his flattened nose before he side-stepped closer to her, his hand clamping down on her shoulder. “C’mere,” he rumbled, his eyes never shifting from whatever he had spotted as he inclined his head towards her. Nao braced herself against the tug of his hand, digging the points of her heels into the concrete as she asked why.

  
“You owe me a favor, and I wanna cash it in,” he replied, exchanging his grip on her shoulder for around her bicep, pulling her forward during a lull in traffic. Nao stumbled after him, her fear catching in her throat as she dug her free hand’s nails into his wrist—more so to keep her upright than to pry the appendage off (not that she could anyway since her left hand and arm was phenomenally weak what with the loss of muscle).

  
“Whatever favor I promised you, my life isn’t part of it,” she rushed to say as they stepped up onto the curb of the opposite sidewalk, passing pedestrians giving them (him) a wide berth and sparing her a pitiful eye. Her fear spread throughout her body, adrenaline spiking her nerves as he pulled her into another alley. For a brief moment of insanity Nao wondered if he liked lurking in alleys, or if he just enjoyed caging her in the dark. The thought flitted away when he stopped abruptly and released her arm, barely a few feet away from the entrance. 

  
“I just need you to do a little something for me,” Yamori said, his tone so casual Nao might have been more surprised by what happened next if she didn’t know him better.

  
“…What do I have to do?” Nao asked him after a beat of hesitation, furrowing her brow and worrying her lip as she looked up at the smile lighting his face. Her eyes widening in shock as his large, calloused hand closed over her throat; her head banging against brick as she was slammed back.

  
“ _Be bait!_ ” he rasped, his eyes easily shifting to a deep black and pulsing red as Nao’s sparked pinpricks of light. A wicked smile stole over his face, his teeth near wolfish and sinister as he applied a slow steady pressure around her neck, all the while ignoring Nao’s attempts to claw at the exposed skin of his hand and wrist. Black spots began to dot the edges of her vision. After a few more moments, she heard everything as if through a tunnel—combined with the rushing of her blood and the heavy pounding of her heart. The biggest thing she heard was screaming—a slew of different people, men and women—before it eventually dimmed down to the sound of male voices, and some sort of metallic clicking.

  
Nao’s vision continued to dim as her lungs burned for oxygen. As her hands grew heavy and fell to her sides—her weight supported entirely by the ghoul as he held her by the neck. Yet still Nao stared into the pity-less depths of Yakumo’s— _Yamori’s_. Watching his red-and-black eyes drag almost painfully away from her to the mouth of the alley, the hidden muscle beneath his pure white suit flexing. Behind his back Nao saw something move, something long and…and _sharp_.

  
“Wha…” Nao could barely choke out the inquiry before Yamori squeezed her neck tighter. What is that? She dimly thought before her eyes slid closed, whatever breath she could get hissing in and out of the thin bit of space the ghoul had provided her.

  
 _“Just relax, Nao-chan,”_ was one of the last things she heard before he released his hand, dropping her unceremoniously to the ground before she blacked out entirely.


	9. Lull

_“Kohana Nao-san, this is the last time we will ask these questions,” the police officer said, his demeanor bordering on frustration while his partner was stretching the limits of his will not to slap Nao out of her shock-induced stupor. “Three hours ago your father, Kohana Nobuo, was killed by an oncoming train—no less than ten minutes before you arrived to take another train home. Is that correct?”_

  
_Nao gave the slightest bob of her head, her eyes itchy and dry while her throat burned. She looked at the glass of water they had placed before her, but refrained from reaching for it._

  
_“To your knowledge, did he have business in the city today?”_

  
_Nao stared down blankly at the table in front of her, at the sheen from the lights above. “…yes,” she answered, whispered._

  
_“What was he in the city for?” the same man asked._

  
_“He was…” Nao stopped to clear her throat, grimacing at the twinges of pain before reaching for the glass and downing half the water. “He was picking up an anniversary present,” Nao lied after she set the glass down, fingering the rivulets of condensation. In truth, he had told her mother hours prior that he was going to ask her uncle for a small loan to tide over the gaining interest. She wasn’t sure if he had had the will to do it once he was actually there, or if his stubborn pride had kept him from doing so._

  
_“We checked some files and saw that he was having some financial trouble—” the man said before his partner interrupted with a statement of the obvious._

  
_“We also know that your store was sold off to a competitor. He couldn’t tell his daughter about his planned suicide, but that’s what happened. Isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. And while the first officer cast his partner a disapproving look, he still looked at Nao expectantly._

  
_Nao thought long and hard, finishing off the last of her water before she dragged her eyes up to stare into the meticulous, no-nonsense black irises’, and said, in her clearest, grief-stricken voice, “You insult him. By claiming things he’d never do.” Each man flinched back at the coldness of her voice, but she continued on, unabated. “You want to know what happened. He slipped and fell—in the rain—in front of a moving train. Do you honestly believe he’d commit suicide at the same station his daughter takes, at the same time she always takes it? He would_ never _subject me to a sight like that.”_

  
_And yet he had._

  
_The interview ended less than ten minutes later with the police officially ruling it an unfortunate accident. If there was a reason the record stated it as so, it was because Nao had reasoned it the only possible explanation._

|13|

  
Her dream ebbed to the back of her mind as she woke to the weak streams of impending dawn. Her throat still burned from the memories, from the hysterical screams she had let out at the first glimpse of blood and gore. From the recognition of her father’s ridiculous— _stained_ —green suit wedged beneath the wheel of a train. 

  
The ceiling above her grew bleary as tears welled; her thoughts cast back to every aspect of that day she had unwittingly memorized. The mere image of her father’s severed arm being stuffed inside an orange plastic bag still made her want to retch—though she’d replayed it a thousand times over and seen things almost as worse.

  
With the back of her hand she wiped her eyes, smearing wetness across her cheeks. Her throat still ached, but it would go away soon (as prior experience dictated). What she couldn’t figure out, however, was why her neck ached as well; as if the bones and tendons inside had been—

  
In a sudden fit Nao coughed, hacking and choking on her own spit and (ironically) the air as she curled onto her side and took great heaving breaths. Memories from the night before hit her in a flash; a wave sending her head spinning as she recalled with startling detail the roughness of _Yakumo’s—Yamori’s,_ her mind corrected her—palm against the column of her throat, and the sick pleasure in his eyes as she had struggled to gain even the slightest wisp of oxygen.

  
Her heart hammered in her ears in time to her ragged breaths, her hands curled tightly around the bedsheets beneath her. _Bait…he called me bait,_ she thought, reaching a trembling hand up to her throat to gently touch the tender flesh, wincing at the ache. _Why…why…what_ happened _last night?_ Dimly Nao recalled the worst of what she saw before she had blacked out, which mainly consisted of Yaku…Yamori’s sadistic smile and gleeful red-and-black eyes and—

  
 _What…was that thing?_ Nao asked herself, closing her eyes as she focused on the swishing thing she had seen behind the ghoul—before giving up with a frustrated huff. Despite recalling the terror that had filled her as her lungs burned for oxygen, despite knowing—from her brief work stint at the prison—what a man’s powerful grasp on her neck felt like, Nao could not process what she had seen beyond the creeping blackness surrounding the edges of her vision. She knew only that she had been choked to the point of unconsciousness, and left to lie in an alley.

  
_Alley…_

  
Nao’s eyes shot open with sudden clarity, sitting up in bed so fast that her head swayed with dizziness while her body began to hyperventilate. He had taken her back to her home. Had been inside it. Had probably even used her key to open the door. While Nao was glad not to have woken up on the filthy ground of the alley, neither was she happy that she now had concrete proof that he knew where she lived. And why would she be when the meager security of her home (no matter the idea that he knew the location) was all that she had been depending on. Now? Now, even after bringing her back after choking her to unconsciousness, it felt like a violation.

  
Nao pressed the heel of her hand against the dull throbbing beside her temple, her fingers prodding at a sharper ache above her eyes. While her knees drew up to curl against her, her chin dipping to her chest, her other hand drifted down to the sheets. Maybe she had thought to grip the thin fabric between her fingers like some sort of lifeline, or maybe she wanted to draw the covers over her to block out the world. But when her fingers met with something sticky and just a little slick, whatever purpose they had been seeking dropped away as every muscle in Nao’s body went tense.

  
Nao had no preconceived notions or explanations of what it might be; no thoughts even as she slowly retracted her hand and held it up in front of her face. She had no comments for the red marking her fingertips, and made no other action besides her mouth letting out what passed for a gasp of surprise. Before long, Nao made the mistake of looking away from her hand down at the bed, her gaze eventually drifting to—

  
Nao lurched from her bed, bile rising in the back of her throat as she stumbled over the floor on her way to the bathroom—her desire to check over body at war with a stronger urge to vomit. The former won out as she stutter-stepped to a halt in the doorway, her shoulder jabbing into the doorjamb as she nearly fell from shock. Her eyes riveted to the image reflected back at her.

  
Mottled purple splotches ringed her neck like a collar, the longest ones spanning the width of her throat a shadow of the fingers that had left them behind. Below, her blouse and skirt were stained altering shades of maroon and coffee color, what signs that it was blood stuck to the skin of her forearms and crept along her collarbone. Sticky, and far too _red_.

  
Panic raised within her as Nao’s fingers flew over the buttons of her shirt, nearly popping each one off in her haste to get the evidence of carnage off her person; flinging it into the nearby corner of her small bathroom before kicking off her equally ruined skirt. Her hands scoured her stomach, her fingers prodding her legs and waist as she looked for a wound, an injury—an explanation for all the blood. Her movements gradually stilled when she found none aside from the bump on her head where it must have hit the sidewalk and the obvious bruise around her throat. 

  
While she would have liked to have rejoiced that Yamori hadn’t “tasted” her again, his words from last night set her paranoia sky-rocketing. He had asked her (forced her) to be bait. Not to mention he had seemed to have been looking for someone. So who had he been looking for, and why had he thought using her as bait would help?

  
Nao glanced down at her ruined clothing, feeling a grim certainty that whoever it had been was now dead. Nausea caused her to sway, making her settle back against the wall beside the door, her knees tucked up as she pressed her shaking hands against her mouth, fighting both the instinct to vomit and the chocked cry bubbling up in her chest. 

  
It was a bitter sort of irony; the favor she had given Yamori to spare two men’s lives was in turn used to take someone else’s. If her hand wasn’t pressed so tightly to her mouth, Nao might have been laughing hysterically; right in time with her impending mental breakdown.

|13|

  
Nao wasn’t sure how long she had sat there, curled up in her bathtub as a nozzle above her head sprayed freezing water on her. She was only certain that when she had sprinted to the bathroom the one number she had glimpsed on her alarm clock had been a four—not necessarily recalling in which place the four was. For all she knew, the two hours she had been sitting there could have actually been five minutes before her clock started beeping incessantly; signaling for her to return to the daily routine.

  
Nao let it go on, her eyes never moving away from the blood-soaked pile of clothing in the corner. Daily routine? Her daily routine now consisted of work, stress, and paranoia—only one of which was brand new. Nao hugged her knees tighter to her chest, ignoring the alarm clock until she heard a rapid banging on her wall and a muffled command. Something akin to “Earn that muhver-bucking ah-arm ov.”

  
She had a gist of what they meant and went to do so, slowly—maybe deliberately—stretching out her stiff limbs and turning the water off. When she’d dragged herself into the bath she had made a full effort to scrub the blood from her hair and body until her skin felt as raw and painful as her neck. By then she had become attached to the warmth surrounding her and the mock feeling of rain on her face that she hadn’t left. Instead she had debated in the far reaches of her mind whether to burn her clothing or double bag it. In the forefront was her usual worries in relation to the ghoul, with one new addition: who had he killed. 

  
Nao let herself drip water as she crossed the bedroom to turn off the alarm, the early morning air chilling her naked flesh. The room went silent with the slightest press of her fingers; her attention diverting to the smears of red staining her bedspread. A part of her wanted to tear the sheets off the bed and rip them to shreds; another wanted to curl up and hide from the person who had made it. Rather than do either, Nao paled and turned back to the bathroom, her aim clear in her mind before she caught another glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.

  
Rather than the bloodstained mess she had first seen, she saw two contrasting parts of herself. Below, she was naked and wet, her skinny body the product of seven years of stress and a low food budget. Her left arm was the same as ever: scarred and partially eaten. All-in-all her body looked the way it had always been the last three years. Her face however…her face was what gave her pause. 

  
More bruising ringed her eyes; her face was slimmer than the month before and the way her cheekbones protruded gave her an overall haunted look. When she thought back to the remark the twenty-something from last night had thrown at her, Nao couldn’t stop the flush of embarrassment at how right he was. Nao was supposed to be a fresh-faced twenty-five like her friends, not a crone in her forties. Below, her neck was the same as the first time she’d seen it—a literal separation of what Yamori had done to her body. Physical and mental torment.

  
Nao took a step closer, the image of her scarred hand reaching up to graze the tender flesh of her bruised neck making the duplicate flinch before all but collapsing against the sink as she gripped the porcelain between her hands, fighting to control her breathing. Nao ducked her head until her chin just barely brushed her chest, her neck flaring in response as she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain and the connotations raising inside her mind.

  
Two months prior she had stared at her reflection in mock annoyance as her friend Misa made her up before taking her out to a club near her work. Aside from the mild rings around her eyes, Nao had never hated her face then like she did now. Then again, over-working herself had been her main health concern then; now, however, the health concern was murder via ghoul. If six weeks of paranoia and insomnia did this to her, how much longer could she take before she eventually succumbed to the pressure before he actually did something?

  
Nao opened her eyes again several long minutes later, staring with begrudging disgust at her face; scowling at her ghostly reflection before deciding that she’d had enough of waiting.

  
|13|

  
The morning after that night had been abuzz with gossip and rumors. Nao had never once realized until then how protected the Third Ward had been; how rare it had become for ghoul attacks—or at least those in public. That day Nao had tried to be conspicuous as she gathered bits of information. At the end Nao had learned as much as the general public had: very little. What accounts she had read online had been scattered and vague from people who had been passing the alley where the attack had occurred. In one, the victim had been a young woman; in another, middle-aged (her lips had pursed at that one before she skimmed down to the end of the page). In most articles the ghoul had been about to impale her with something called a “kagune”, in others she’d already been dead. In every web page, however, it had been clear: one Investigator had been “killed tragically in the line of duty” while both his partner and the victim were missing. Given the amount of blood she had woken up in, and the reputation “Jason of the Thirteenth” had garnered, Nao could guess in what manner the Investigator had been “killed tragically”. What truly bothered her, however, was the disappearance of the man’s partner.

  
In truth, Nao didn’t know how to feel about Investigators—given that her own experiences had left much to be desired. But that she had unwittingly played bait to the possible deaths of two people made guilt swirl deep in the pit of her gut and weigh heavily on her mind.

  
Two weeks had gone by with no new developments. A week after the attack, the Third Ward office had held a memorial service.

  
Throughout the two weeks, Nao had attempted to keep her mind occupied with either work, or keeping her bruise hidden. It hadn’t been easy covering up the massive thing; despite the discomfort, Nao had buttoned up the collar of her shirt and hid what little poked above the stiff material with thick layers of foundation. Each day as she worked, Nao couldn’t shake the constricting feel the collar gave her, absently tugging at it throughout the workday before yanking it back into place before someone noticed. The one person who might’ve, however, had remained blissfully ignorant; a self-satisfied smile on his face whenever he caught her pulling her shirt collar higher over what he probably assumed to be his handiwork.

  
As if he’d ever marked her skin with something so intimate in the last several months.

  
Whether or not it was because of the ghoul, her relationship (fling or lack thereof) had deteriorated to where she was just a name in a little black book. Or maybe she had just chosen to be ignorant of this fact until it had begun to be spat in her face.

  
 _Whatever. Casual sex might be my only joy before I die,_ Nao thought bitterly, half-listening to the managing of the secretarial pool as she delivered some sort of speech. She couldn’t recall the details of why, or for what. A celebration? An anniversary? One of the older secretaries was beside her; maybe she was retiring. 

  
_Before I die…_ It should have bothered her how casual the sentence was in relation to herself. And while Nao was not suicidal per se, she was not a fan of how her life had turned out. Perhaps the thing she was most frustrated with was how close she was to paying off the debt and having her life back; being able to enjoy herself and spend her money however she wished. But that itself was just wishful thinking unless Yamori took her up on her offer.

  
“Such a lengthy speech, huh?” Matsuru commented under his breath, leaning his hip against her desk as they listened to her boss ramble on and on. Matsuru himself worked in the marketing department of the company—in other words there was no need for him to be here, complaining. Nao didn’t bother trying to guess why. After a shrug of her shoulder, he glanced down at her, one brow arching as he said, “Kohana-chan, you’re looking a little…serious.”

  
“It’s just stress. I have a lot on my mind,” she replied, her voice still a little rough in comparison to normal, but given how raw and ragged it had first been when she had tried to speak, it was a vast improvement. Similar to her hidden neck, Matsuru claimed responsibility with a leerful smile. Maybe it was because of that that Nao never once looked at him, choosing instead to stare at her boss as she wrapped up her speech with a shake of the hand of the woman beside her. Needless to say, however, she could easily detect the smile in his voice and the not-so-easily-covered tone of his innuendo.

  
“Well ah…I’ve got a good remedy for that if you’re up for it.”

  
Nao finally looked up at him, a small nondescript smile on her face as she replied, “Thank you for the…offer, but I’d rather not have the distraction right now.” Leaving him stunned Nao left her desk to follow the lead of her other coworkers and congratulated (or bid farewell) her senpai.

  
|13|

  
There was no fixed rate in which—in either way shape or form—Nao “ran” into Yamori. So far it had been random, spanning anywhere from a month to four measly days—though his latest appearance may in part have been due to her own dumb luck. Even so, Nao kept a wary eye out for the increasingly familiar white suit he wore and the unnatural “natural” blond hair he had been given. From the date of her decision she had done this, her hackles raised so to keep away the general fright he gave her. It was no real guarantee that her fear wouldn’t come to the forefront of her brain regardless.

  
Aside from that, Nao’s only real indication had been the vague feeling she got moments—or on the occasion hours—before something actually happened to her. As a warning system it sucked, but her choices were limited as it were. Though despite this Nao glanced down alleyways and periodically looked over her shoulder, searching the crowd. At some point she had wondered where the line had been crossed where she went from looking _out_ for the massive ghoul to looking _for_ him.

  
She’d soon remembered that the line had been around her throat.

  
It wasn’t until the third week after the incident that Nao felt that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and a heaviness in her mind as she neared her home near to sunset. Slowing her gait, she glanced around, wondering if he was across the street again or looming in an alley as he so often appeared to be doing. She’d found no sign yet the nagging feeling remained, tugging at her nerves as she shifted the grocery bags she had picked up after work in her arms.

  
It wasn’t until she was fumbling with her key that the reason for her vague premonition showed up, his voice taunting as he asked if she needed help. She didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or grit her teeth in mild disappointment as Kazuo grabbed her keys out of her hand and undid the lock—not sparing her a glance as he let himself in before her. Briefly Nao looked up in a silent plea for patience before following him in, nudging the door shut with her shoe before toeing them off; biting her tongue against Kazuo as he tromped about her apartment in his boots.

  
“Kazuo-san…is there a reason you’re here so early?” she asked him, setting her groceries aside on the counter and masking her derision of him—at the mere image of him inside her home.

  
He scoffed at her, his hand flicking open a lighter as he replied around a cigarette, “Ya didn’t text me any specifics, so I just waited around for ya to show up.” He paused to suck in a lungful of smoke, blowing it out slow as he added, “We wouldn’t want you to skip out on yer payment or anything.”

  
Nao stared at him in confusion before realization slowly dawned on her. “That…that isn’t next week?” she asked weakly, her hand curling around the edge of the counter in bitter frustration that she had forgotten something so important.

  
“Second week of the month—as per _your_ instructions,” he said, pointing the glowing end of the cigarette at her as if to illustrate that point. “So I take it you don’t have it then.”

  
Nao cast a glance over the groceries she had bought before looking back at him. She would have liked to have said that she had had a feeling she was forgetting something, but it would have been a lie. “I…I-I don’t. But…I can get it to you tomorrow night,” she told him, hoping he wouldn’t count it against her. Because he had to see how tired she was; he had to see how much stress she was in…right?

  
He took a long drag off the cigarette, eyeing her with an expression Nao couldn’t pinpoint, before saying through a mouthful of smoke, “Tell you what. You look like you really need the money, so I’ll just come back in two weeks.” For a moment Nao felt the pressure in her chest lighten. Only a moment. Before Kazuo snuffed out the cigarette on the window sill beside him and she caught a glimpse of a more-than-less-than-pleased look on his face. “Just make sure to bring a hundred-and-ten thousand Yen next time.”

  
“A-A…a _hundred-ten_?” Nao’s jaw dropped at the amount, her brain centering on the fact that it was nearly the entirety of her paycheck. “But th-the penalty is—”

  
“Included,” he interrupted walking across the room to stand, for a moment, in front of her, “Just think of it as getting a head start on next month’s payment. ‘Kay?” She stared at him in disbelief, as he clapped a hand on her shoulder in a rough pat and slid past her to the door, never bothering to wait for a reply even as she sputtered behind him,

  
“Bu-But—but! I-I’ve never missed a payment! This is…it’s extreme!”

  
“It—it—it’s not my problem!” he replied, imitating her as he made his way down the stairs. “Hundred-ten in two weeks, Kohana!” he called out over his shoulder, leaving Nao to stare at his receding back from the doorway before he disappeared completely.

  
Was it a punishment? If so it was extreme for a first-time offence, even given that she had never missed a single payment in seven years. Loath as she was to admit, she missed the man she had used to meet up with before she had had a…“shift in employment”. He’d had a shaved head and a tattooed dragon snaking down from his left ear; every time he’d looked at her, Nao had the impression that he would love nothing more than to squash her beneath his shiny black shoes. When he’d been swapped with Kazuo, Nao had been little more than grateful for the more personable personality he’d shown her the first few months—before he had displayed his more violent, bipolar tendencies.

  
In the back of her mind, as she closed the door and moved—somewhat robotically—to put her food away, she wondered if the tattooed man would have been more accepting at having to wait a day, or if he’d have reacted the same. Given they were Yakuza, she doubted there would have been a change. Still though…

 _A hundred thousand yen…will I even have enough for rent?_ Nao asked herself later on as she added and subtracted numbers on a piece of paper; hunched over at the only piece of furniture in her living/dining room. _Maybe if I’m late on rent…cut back on foodstuffs…_

  
“And maybe if I work extra hours every day for two weeks, I might not starve by my next-next paycheck,” she murmured to herself, holding up the scribbled mess before letting it flutter back to the table, pinned beneath her elbows as she buried her face in her hands; her fingers knotting themselves in her hair. Nao welcomed the slight pain as a distraction from the crushing debt she was under and all that it came with. Though with the distraction came another issue to mind.

  
That vagueness she had felt before had never gone away, that dark feeling of premonition tiptoeing the edge of her brain even as Kazuo took possession of her next paycheck. Nao pressed her fingertips harder against her head, mentally fighting with herself about what it meant and what she had to do. Three weeks ago, as she stared at her own gaunt face, she had made up her mind in regards to death. Now, as Nao stared down at the scribbled mess of her bills, she was making up her mind in regards to “the death god of Friday”.


	10. Gambit

Nao edged past pedestrians and giggling couples, dodging elbows as she strode down a wide strip, her phone pressed to her ear as she simultaneously searched the crowds around her and tried to talk to her friend, Misa. In the two hours Nao had had to wait until Misa got off work, she had grabbed her weekend shoes—an old pair of beat-to-hell sneakers more comfortable than her work-a-day heels—and made her way to the last place she thought she’d ever go: the center of the Thirteenth Ward.

  
Nao had recognized earlier that it was a dangerous plan what with the rumors she’d heard and the horror stories she’d read on the internet. Now, as she walked among hundreds of people, surrounded by clubs and blinded by the blinking neon lights from shops, parlors and love hotels, she felt no less assured that the rumors were just that.

  
More so than that Nao had an endless feeling of suspicion roiling around inside her. How much had the stories online been embellished? Or were they themselves false. She’d known the Ward, while touted as bloody and dangerous, was also known for its main street of clubbing and pleasure, but the degree to which she saw of delight and enjoyment put to question exactly how “saturated” the Ward was with ghouls.

  
Or…were all the people around her ghouls?

  
The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine before she went back to her conversation. “Any time after six would be great, but are you sure you ca—” she started to ask before she was cut off by an indignant hiss from the other side of the phone.

  
 _“Na-chan, this is me you are talking about,”_ Misa said, _“I could get you into the most exclusive club in the Ward in nothing but jeans and an ugly sweater._ This? _”_ She took a pause to add to the theatrics of her drama. _“This just insults me.”_

  
Nao let a smile twitch onto her face despite the trepidation scratching away at the edges of her nerve. “You know I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Nao told her as she continued to glance around the crowds, searching out the increasingly familiar build of the brutal, blond ghoul. While Nao wanted to seek him out, in truth she had no idea what she would do once she actually found him. That idea felt like icy water dripping down her throat, freezing her body and choking her lungs—much the same way Yamori himself had personally done to her. “I know you’re great at this sort of thing—” The thing being manipulation of beneficial men, i.e. bouncers, managers and her own clientele, “—And I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” she continued, her eyes darting left and right, ahead and behind her in a fashion that may have been construed as paranoia to the people around her.

  
 _“Excellent. Then in apology we go out and party!”_ Misa cried in excitement, buzzing Nao’s ear. _“I know you’re free this weekend; where are you at right now?”_ she asked her.

  
Nao started, sputtering a response in an attempt to keep Misa from joining her that evening. “I—ah—I’m actually sorta busy now; I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, half-heartedly listening to Misa as she huffed an annoyed reply that ended with a click. Nao pocketed her phone as she went back to her objective, finding little luck in the following hours as she twisted her gaze this way and that, flinching as she spotted black-haired men in white suits and blond-haired teenagers with normal-ish looking faces. The closest she had come during the night had been a blonde man— _teenager?_ —in a white suit with a slim build no taller than she was.

  
Nao spent several hours in this fashion, trailing up and down the busier streets—and all but avoiding areas pockmarked with few patrons and shady-looking businesses—before the crowds began to thin out and the night stretched on into hours even the citizens of the Thirteenth would avoid. Her plan, however poorly thought out, had failed.

|13|

Nao felt like a great weight had been lifted off of her chest. True to fact, she did not accomplish what she had set out to do, and the hour she’d set out at had been far exceeded by the hour she had left the Ward. In addition to the penalty she’d been given earlier that had driven her to such decisions, Nao had no reason to feel this way. Though that she did not run into or see the ghoul presently tormenting her, and who’d choked her to the brink of unconsciousness, was its own blessing in disguise.

  
Or it would have been had she not planned to do the same thing tomorrow. _Today?_ Nao rooted through her purse until she found her cell phone and looked at the time. _1:43…it didn’t seem that far before,_ Nao thought, pursing her lips as she looked around her surroundings. While Nao had waited two hours to speak to her friend, the actual walk over to the Thirteenth had taken little more than an hour. She’d left that Ward little less than two hours ago; and still she refused to believe she was lost. Even further she prayed that she wasn’t accidently skirting the edge of that ghoul-infested Ward.

  
 _I came out here to find a ghoul, and given my luck it might be the wrong one,_ she thought cynically, trying to keep close to the streetlamps and as far from the alleyways as was possible. A few times she slipped off the curb, balancing on it even as cars whizzed by and the few pedestrians around either stared at her, or avoided her. Like she were crazy.

  
But what Nao felt wasn’t insanity or anything of the like. It was relief tinged with a heavier feeling. That same dark feeling she’d felt hours ago when she’d been balancing groceries and trying to unlock a door. A feeling that had never really left even as her mind filled with dread at the thought of starvation, and her only option lay in the hands of a malicious ghoul. Instead that feeling—that premonition she had learned to rely on—had bided its time as she walked into a death-filled Ward.

  
And now—as she walked back to her home in the dead of night—Nao wondered momentarily if the foreboding feeling she’d had had been about going outside at all.

  
Nao glanced back over her shoulder, just in time to watch as the last pedestrian on the street turned a corner and disappeared from sight, leaving her alone save for the occasional car. Tension threaded through her muscles, her limbs tightening as if preparing to fight or run while her left arm twitched in mild pain. The few tendons and muscle left along her ruined forearm flaring in a sad replica of her right side.

  
Nao took her left arm in her right hand to try and relax the muscle; her own skin crawling as her fingers rubbed her bones more than anything else through the thin material of her sleeve. Eventually she gave up the action to simply wrap her arms around herself, all but trying to hold herself together as that heavy feeling festered and bubbled up her throat, threatening to suffocate her again until she stopped where she stood.

  
At times during the last two months, Nao had felt like she were in the midst of a B-grade horror movie, rife with clichés she should have seen coming—though in truth Nao had only seen the most terribly obvious films, and in her own defense real life didn’t have music to signal when the monster would jump out and eat you. No, in Nao’s horror movie her only warning was a dark, vague feeling that had done nothing to protect or prepare her for her harsh reality. 

  
And if recognizing clichés was how someone survived a real-life monster movie, then Nao would wade deeper into it. If only because she was so tired of trying to avoid him when it ended in failure anyway.

  
“Come out already,” she murmured under her breath, willing some sound into the air around her as she stood there and waited, leaning against the streetlamp above her. “I’m done playing these games, and living in this horror movie. I’m done waiting for you to _scare the shit out of me_ ,” Nao seethed, her voice rising as she looked down both ends of the streets, glaring down the mouth of the alley beside her and silently daring him to come out of the shadows. When time ticked steadily by and he had still not appeared, Nao lost what was left of her patience for that night, inhaled deep, and poured every ounce of anger and frustration into one very loud screech.

  
“ _Come out and face me you sick son of a bitch!_ ”

  
In the answering vibration and eventual silence, Nao waited with bated breath until disappointment stole over her and cooled her roiling emotions. She waited a few more minutes in dead silence before grabbing her phone and checking the time once again. No less than twenty minutes had gone by with the night deadening of activity and her anxiety skyrocketing. And now she was screaming at shadows, and angry with someone who had never been predictable in the first place.

  
 _A blessing in disguise?_ Nao wondered as she made her way quickly home, following the more commonly used roads despite the late hour and the overall desertedness of her surroundings. Taking no notice that the heavy sensation deep in her gut had slipped away.

|13|

  
Nao could have slept until noon the following morning, and very nearly would have had Misa not called incessantly, announcing once Nao picked up—several times and in various ways—that she was coming to “take Na-chan away from her soul-crushing routine” and “save her from the brink of exhaustion and boredom”.

  
As usual her friend was being overly dramatic. But with the promise of coffee and a banana-nut muffin, Nao tugged on an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, grabbed her purse, and left to meet up at their usual hangout: a café cheap enough for Nao to splurge every once and a while, and spilling with men for Misa to trick over to the hostess bar she worked at. A hostess bar Nao worked part-time at when she needed the extra money, and had asked Misa about the night before.

  
Now again as Misa and Nao occupied a corner of the café—coffee and muffins on the way and pleasantries exchanged—she asked Misa, “Is there any news about the job?”

  
“‘m talkin’ to him tonight; consider it good as yours,” Misa replied, distracted as she looked around the open area of the café; waiting for the lunch rush of businessmen she was set to ambush, while Nao would look on and take notes. Misa looked back at Nao, flipping her long black hair over a shoulder as she exaggerated a wince—or what Nao hoped was an exaggeration via the dramatical nature of Misa. “Just…okay, I gotta ask. Have you been doing overtime the last month?” Misa asked her, propping her chin on her head as she took in each individual attribute of Nao’s gaunt face. Nao grimaced, looking away from Misa and ducking her head slightly. “I mean, normally you look tired but—”

  
“I’ve just been a little stressed lately, Mi-chan. I’m fine,” Nao forced a smile, though it felt bitterer than she’d liked to have had it, “I just need a little extra money this month.” _And maybe the month after that if I miss the deadline again,_ she thought, mirroring Misa’s furrowed brows as the other woman looked at her with concern deep in her coal-black eyes.

  
Misa reached across the table to grab Nao’s disfigured hand, squeezing it gently and holding it gingerly; not even flinching at the scar tissue and bony feel—Nao loved her for that. “My God, Nao, I’ll lend you the money. Don’t die for a stupid debt.” Nao flinched microscopically; Misa catching the slight twitch in her shoulders before attempting to backpedal. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Nao shrugged it off, both falling silent as a barista came over to their table and dropped off their order.

  
“So Boss might want you to work a few weeks more than usual—just a head’s up,” Misa spoke up as Nao tore open tiny shots of cream and packets of sugar and poured them into her steaming cup. “You also might need to make your face less scary to actually get clients.”

  
“I think all I need for that is bad lighting and a clever make-up artist,” Nao replied blithely, taste-testing her coffee and staring at Misa over the rim, grinning when Misa sighed and said in an exasperated tone,

  
“Oh fine~ I’ll use you as my personal doll and turn you into a knockout. Stop begging already!”

  
Conversation between the two dwindled down to idle chatter centering on Nao and Misa’s few other friends—or rather, those who had bothered to keep contact years later after high school—and what they had been up to the in few months Nao had kept her distance. Jealousy at who was getting a pay raise or a promotion, anger at an ex-lover for a misbegotten deed, general happiness for a friend who’d found Mr. Right and another who’d become pregnant. Nao’s heart ached for the normalcy she had been missing; her mood drastically rising from where it had been twelve hours ago.

  
“It’s almost noon; is that all you’re eating?” Misa asked as the barista poured them each a third cup. Frowning down at the diminished, unrecognizable shape of Nao’s muffin (which she had been picking at for a solid hour), she added, “For God’s sakes, I’m buying you a sandwich set.”

  
“Mi-chan, I don—”

  
“Do you want the job?” Misa interrupted, snatching the laminated menu from the middle of the table, alternating between glancing over the selection and glaring over the top of it. Nao hesitated before nodding her head. “Then shut up and take the free food! Now which set do you want: jams or deli meat?” she asked, shoving the menu in front of Nao’s face.

  
Nao didn’t like the charity—nor the pity—her friends gave her when they saw her. But as she thought about the abundance of rice and the minimal amount of anything else in her fridge, as well as the small budget she’d have to stretch over the month, her stomach clenched in a way that had long since become routine. Pride be damned; she wanted food. “Both?”

  
Misa smirked in triumph as the barista left, returning a few minutes later with a plate in each hand, each stacked with a trio of triangular sandwiches. Nao nearly cried at such a beautiful sight before she pulled her purse into her lap and started wrapping each one in a napkin.

  
“You ever think about _not_ being a packrat?” Misa sneered down at the scraps of papers stuffed inside as Nao shoved them aside to make room, reaching across the table to pluck a few out. “Are—are these all _receipts?!_ ” Nao had gotten into the habit years ago to keep track of her finances. As of late she’d not been in the right state of mind to go through them all and they’d accumulated into its current mess. “At least tell me you have a few guys’ phone numbers in there.” Nao didn’t answer; Misa rightfully took it as a no. “If I wasn’t aware that you were scoring with the office slut, I would be deeply disappointed in you.”

  
Nao debated whether or not to tell Misa about the rocky state of her fling before remembering it as it was: a fling. As ephemeral and long-lasting as a fruit fly’s lifespan. In addition, Nao realized that the reality of her love life amounted to a sexual relationship with an “office slut” and a confusing kiss with a homicidal ghoul. Not to mention the flirtation and pseudo-dates her semi-part-time job required.

  
She let the topic slide into an afterthought as the lunch rush began around them; Misa looking past her to the door for possible targets. “I’ll let you know what Boss says later. Now, ready to watch the master at work?” Misa slid a compact out of her purse, checking her flawless makeup and sweeping stray hairs out of her face. “Settle things with the enemy so you can stop having these problems,” she said, setting the compact aside, “and for God’s sake, clean out your purse!” With that she readjusted her top, put on a coy smile, and slid out of her seat, sidling up to a middle-aged businessman while Nao crammed sandwiches in her purse.

  
After a few minutes and a minor mishap with strawberry jam Nao gave into her friend’s advice, pulling out stray, faded slips of paper and all manner of loose coins, pens and a flattened tampon. A while ago Nao had read some such or other about the state of a woman’s purse being the insight into their mind. As she looked at the mess on the table, she figured it to be an accurate portrayal.

  
 _Most women worry about being late or if their boyfriends are cheating on them._ Nao licked the jam off her thumb as she filed the sandwiches inside her purse, her wallet and pens tucked to one side. She cast a cursory look over the receipts she’d collected the last few months before picking out the faded slips and stuffing the more legible ones in whatever space was available inside her purse. _Me? I get to agonize over Yakuza debts and a murderous ghoul._

  
Nao paused, staring down at the little slips. _Maybe I should rethink that plan,_ Nao thought, rubbing away the ache in her temple and the strain in her eyes before glancing over her shoulder at Misa. She’d moved on to a younger man; the business man from before smiling down at a pink business card. _But if I don’t do it I’ll probably end up getting fired._ Nao turned back to her pile, sifting through them until a swirl of black ink caught her eye.

  
She picked out the little card, the edges bent at odd angles and the print slightly faded. Marking the broad surface of the card was a logo, no name—or at least none she could discern—and a phone number and address on the other side. Nao couldn’t have been staring at it for more than a couple minutes before Misa appeared over her shoulder, making her jump in her seat with a very simple question Nao had no answer for.

  
“How did you get that card?”

  
“Do you know this place?” Nao asked in return, wondering herself when she could have picked it up.

  
Misa sat down across from her again, her side work forgotten as she gave Nao a bewildered/“are you serious” look. “It’s a club—a pretty popular one in the Thirteenth Ward,” she explained, snatching the business card from Nao’s hand and peering intently at the logo before looking at her from over the top edge. “What were you doing in the Thirteenth?” 

  
“I wasn’t. I just…Matsuru-san must have put it in there,” Nao quickly said, wondering herself who put it in there until the answer slowly came to her. H _e didn’t._ Nao glanced down at the purse in her lap, blanching at the thought of a secondary violation aside from the intrusion in her home. “That bastard…” Nao murmured under her breath, her hands clenching into fists.

  
“Well if he wants you to have fun once in a while, then he probably meant well.” Misa handed back the card, raising a brow at Nao’s mild anger, “And frankly I agree. So let’s go out, destress, drink, and ditch our inhibitions for the night.”

  
“To the Thirteenth? No, no, I’m not going there.” _Again,_ she mentally added, shaking her head and crumpling the card in her hand.

  
Misa frowned, reaching over to tug the little crumpled ball from Nao’s hand. “Look, I know what happened to you was…traumatizing,” she said slowly, smoothing the folds out, “But I’ve been there plenty of times, and it’s honestly not as bad as the internet says.” Nao would have liked to disagree, but her own disappointing experience in the Thirteenth backed that opinion up. When Misa saw she hadn’t budged, she pressed a little harder, “Just for an hour or two—we won’t even stay that late! Nine or ten at the latest.”

  
Nao bit her lip, looking down at the card on the table while she tried to figure out what to do. She realized a moment later that any choice she had in the matter was decided the night before. Especially now that she had an invitation and a meeting place. “Just…stay close, okay?”

  
A wide grin spread across Misa’s face. “Yeah, of course,” she agreed before delving into a whole spiel about “pre-gaming” and bashing Nao’s “utilitarian wardrobe”, pausing only when Nao asked to go back to her apartment to get some things. “I’ll come with you to pick out some stuff; you still have that little number from high school, right?”

|13|

  
Three years prior, when Nao had been released from the interrogation room in the Twenty-Third Ward, Misa and Sacha—another of Nao’s friends—had taken her out to a club in the Ward to celebrate her recovery. Neither of them knew that she’d been released from the hospital a week prior, and never did Nao tell them the truth. That night Nao had hid her arm and hand beneath thick gauze and moved it out of sight as often as possible, drinking anything Misa pushed into her other hand, and faking her enjoyment for her friend’s benefit when all she really wanted to do was go home and sleep. Hours later she did, with the added benefit of a nasty hangover and a bucket beside her bed.

  
Now currently, as she and Misa walked into a club in the Thirteenth Ward, all she wanted was to not do what she had come here to do. All-in-all she felt like she was going to throw up. Or maybe just turn tail and run. Though the latter would mean leaving Misa alone in a supposedly ghoul-infested Ward. The former was just a gross wild card.

  
 _Misa will be close by; she won’t leave without me,_ Nao reassured herself, looking around the club silently as music blared from speakers in hidden corners of the huge room and multi-colored lights flickered on the throng of people in the middle. Along the sides sat large booths and private seating; somewhere over the heads of the clubbers Nao spied a long bar counter, the wall behind it decorated with lines of different colored bottles of all shapes and sizes. In the midst of all of it, what she didn’t see was a huge, blond ghoul. In all honesty Nao couldn’t imagine the man Yamori had become in her mind coming to a club at all. But then again, the man in her head was little more than a monster hell-bent on a goal she didn’t want to think about.

  
“D’you wanna drink first or dance?!” Misa shouted beside Nao’s ear, her voice scarcely an octave above the pounding music. Looking past the grinding bodies, Nao nodded towards the bar, trusting that her voice would be nullified no matter how loudly she tried to talk. Misa grabbed her right wrist, the shredded hem of her miniskirt bouncing with each step while she dragged Nao along the outer edge of the writhing bodies.

  
What seemed like an hour went by in a haze of flashing color and monotonic sound. For a while Misa tried to make conversation, although Nao could only catch every third or fourth word. Before long—despite reassuring her that she would stay close by—Misa got swept away by a man with hooded eyes and a gorgeous smile. With a slightly apologetic smile Misa left, getting lost in the crowd and leaving Nao seated by the bar with a vodka tonic and a small bout of annoyance.

  
It was not as if Nao felt slighted that her friend had abandoned her so easily for a man to grind against, it was that coming with her to the club had been Misa’s idea in the first place. “You’re not here for fun anyway, just get over it,” Nao murmured to herself, knocking back the rest of her drink as she continued to people watch. She had already acknowledged that the possibility of Yamori being here after a month had gone by was low. Added to that her gut feeling, her instinct, hadn’t once gone off once tonight. Despite that, she felt uneasy in a Ward known for its ghoul problem; which in turn made believing that Misa had come and gone here safely “plenty of times” unbelievable. If anything Nao had an easier time believing that Misa was blessed by the gods to have the greatest of luck. Her proof was her own terrible misfortune the last several weeks.

  
Tapping the counter for the bartender’s attention and mouthing the word restroom, she left, following the direction he had pointed to a pair of velvet-lined doors tucked away in the corner. Chancing a glance back at the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Misa before she disappeared again. Nao left through the doors, unwilling to fight through the crowd just to tell her friend where she’d be for a few minutes.

  
The hallway behind the doors was a stark contrast to the huge room behind her. It was narrow and long, lined with dark wood and low fluorescent lighting, and so quiet Nao thought she’d gone deaf until the muffled music leaked through. Three doors dotted the hallway, the closest to her being a men’s restroom while at the far end was an emergency exit. She ducked into the middle, leaning heavily against the door and exhaling in mild relief at the blissful quiet inside the white ceramic walls. Her headache from earlier hadn’t gone away quite yet; the pounding music and lights doing little to help. After a few minutes Nao went over to the line of sinks, splashing cold water on her face and inadvertently smearing her makeup.

  
Nao glanced up at her reflection, at the lines of mascara dripping from her eyes. At the sweetheart neckline of her dress—a threadbare thing she’d had since high school, and otherwise loose if not for the wide red scarf tied around her middle. Above it her bruises had faded to a dull yellow, hardly noticeable despite all the flickering light in the dancehall. Nao washed away the tracks on her face, careful not to smudge her lipstick as she patted herself dry with a paper towel.

  
_Knock. Knock. Knock._

  
Nao jumped at the sharp sound, her reflections eyes wide as she glanced over at the door. “Mi-chan?” she called, her voice strong though she knew the woman was like a bull in a china shop: boisterous and cheerful and unlikely to knock. There was an accompanying silence after her question before the same trio of knocks came again, louder.

  
_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK._

  
Nao stepped away from the sinks, slinging her purse across her chest as she inched closer to the door. She hadn’t locked it—that much she could see from the vertical brass knob above the handle—it wasn’t another girl in need of a restroom. Nao hesitated before stopping a foot from the door, her back ramrod straight and her arms stiff by her side as she stared at the middle. Doubt filled her mind like a security blanket, trying to protect her from the surreal feeling of that moment. The moment where the girl in the horror movie inches the door open and sees a black void of nothing before a ghostly pair of arms drag her into Hell.

  
This wasn’t a horror movie though, this was Nao’s sad reality where monsters existed and took pleasure in her slow mental destruction. A monster who was now intentionally mocking her with a horror movie cliché. Which only meant that he’d heard what she’d said last night. Which of course meant that the reason for that lingering dark feeling was because he’d watched her make a fool of herself in a Ward that terrified her.

  
Nao’s hands clenched into tight fists as she bored holes into the door separating her from the man on the other side. If the reason last night that made her want a deal was because of money, then the reason now was because of _this_. 

  
“Ya—Yakumo-san?” She winced at how weak she sounded compared to the confidence from before when she knew she was wrong. How timid she seemed when what she felt most was anger. “Yamori-san?” she tried again, stronger this time though a quaver remained. There was no answer, not even a knock. Only silence. Nao didn’t know if he—or on the off chance it was someone else—was still there, but when she didn’t hear anything like receding footsteps she took it as a sign and continued. “I-I n-n-n…” she stammered, biting her tongue immediately before starting again. “I need t-to talk to you.” 

  
“Then come out here.” 

  
Nao was taken off guard by the suddenness of his voice, near certain that he was going to keep up the charade of silence. And to be honest, now that the fear that he was truly here had been confirmed, Nao lost what little confidence she had. She glanced quickly from the door handle and the lock to the slim window behind her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d escaped out a restroom window, but it would be a first where she wasn’t trying to ditch a horrible blind date or standing on a toilet shimmying her ass in order to do so. Though in the time it would take her to get underneath the window to even try, Yamori would’ve already broken down the door.

  
Swallowing the lump in her throat—and mentally preparing herself for coming face-to-face with the monster that had nearly choked her to death—Nao reached for the door handle. Her fingers jerking only once toward the lock before she grasped the slim metal beneath her palm and opened the door. Simultaneously her other hand fingered the zipper on her purse. Rather than the black void her mind had conjured up moments earlier, or the red-and-black eyed figure from her nightmares, Yamori stood there in his white suit, his broad-shouldered figure just barely framed by the door opening. As usual a grin adorned his face; a small part of Nao wondering if—aside from the open hostility she had once experienced—he ever showed an emotion beyond those of amusement and annoyance.

  
Nao felt her breathing pick up and her chest constrict; her panic rising as she stared at him. Much the same way she’d reacted months prior when she’d run into him for the first time. Nao bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on the sharp pain in her mouth as she worked on taking deep breaths to calm herself down—a tip she’d picked up from her doctor three years ago to help combat PTSD to stay in the here-and-now. The problem was that her “here-and-now” was a repeat, and the breathing exercises only really worked when the object of your PTSD wasn’t standing right in front of you. 

  
But then again, that’s the reason why she had a knife in her purse.

  
“Didn’t try to go out the window?” he asked. Nao just barely curbed the urge to look over her shoulder as she gradually calmed down. The bitter irony being that his relaxed demeanor was causing it. She didn’t answer him beyond a little step backward, trying to increase the distance between them but still anchored in place by her tight grip on the door handle. She let go and retreated further into the restroom only when Yamori glanced away from her towards the entrance of the hall before he took a step inside.

  
Nao heard the thud of the double doors as they shut behind two people entering the hall—a man and a woman was as much as she could tell from the briefs stints of conversation between wet, sucking sounds—before Yamori closed the restroom door and turned the lock. Shutting the couple out and keeping Nao inside. Aside from a second dull thud out in the hall, the only sound Nao heard clearly was the pounding of her heart in her ears as Yamori strode closer, following Nao step for step until her back hit the wall.

  
She kept herself still, watching him with continued fear as he slid his eyes up and down her body, his expression taking on a leering quality that made her all too aware of the hem of her dress brushing against her stocking-covered thighs and the low dip of her neckline. Nao swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss with him. And overall unsure if he even wanted to talk as his eyes zeroed in on her neck and he reached a hand towards her.

  
The deep purple she had worked hard to cover up the last few weeks had faded and given way to a yellowed blossom across her throat. No longer was it as tender as it had been, as sore as it used to be. And yet tingles followed his fingers as they traced their vague imprints on the sides of her neck. His thumb softly skimming down the length of her windpipe. Nao jerked away from his hand, batting it away in a moment of bravado as she pressed back further against the wall. Her left hand stung at the bare amount of contact, a flare of pain radiating down her arm even as she hissed, “ _Don’t_ touch me.” Yamori smirked down at her, dropping his hand back to his side and lowering his gaze to the knife pointing at his abdomen.

  
“You brought a weapon?”

  
“It’s just a little…protection,” Nao replied, flicking her eyes down at it. Involuntarily she remembered the last time she had held a knife to him, recalling with startling clarity what the Interrogator had said about a ghoul’s body. “Would it have worked?” she asked him, making clear how useless she herself saw the small object; deadly to anything else but them.

  
“You wanna try and see?” His hand wrapped around hers, steading the shaky grip she had and raising both her arm and the knife until the tip of the blade rested lightly above his clavicle. In that instant her gut filled with the same sick feeling it had years ago, forcing her to try and yank her hand back from Yamori’s.

  
Her hand slipped from his, leaving him the knife as he scoffed down at her. “What are you going to do with a knife when you lack the conviction to even use it?” he asked, readjusting his grip along the blade and—as far as Nao could see—applying the smallest amount of pressure. Before her eyes the metal bent beneath his fingers, curling and letting out the slightest whine before he let it drop to the floor. Nao stared at the twisted bit of metal that used to be her kitchen knife before she moved her eyes to Yamori’s hand, expecting to see blood where there was not even a scratch. Her stomach sank like a rock. Her time with the Interrogator had done her no favors—that was to be certain—but least of all he had shown her how weak a ghoul could be, and never how invulnerable they actually were.

  
“I just…I just want to talk with you,” Nao murmured, her voice low even in the soundless void of the restroom. “But… _please_ …just don’t touch me,” she asked, unwilling to look him in the eye as she continued to stare at the unmarked flesh of his hand. Unable to suppress the shudder that went through her as he bent his forefinger under his thumb. The subsequent _crack_ echoing off the linoleum. 

  
“You tried to kill me,” she began, earning a low scoff from Yamori as he rebutted,

  
“Don’t exaggerate—”

  
“I can’t!” she cut him off, daring to raise her voice from a murmur to something angry and indignant as she forced herself to look at him, “Not if that’s what everyone’s saying. Especially not if that’s what everyone believes.” The smile had dropped from his face, the amused look she had grown used to overtaken by one bordering on vague curiosity or studious interest. “I can’t spend the rest of whatever time I have left thinking about whatever end you have in store for me—if you want to drive me insane or…” she started off strong, her voice dwindling in volume the closer she got to her proposal, “k-kill me. Because if I do, I’ll lose track of what I’ve been working towards the last seven years.”

  
She let her last sentence hang in the air between them, watching him carefully as the mild interest he had shown throughout melted into a narrowed look of aggression. “What do you want instead then?” Yamori finally said, “To live longer? To do what; marry your lover boy? Quit your job and have a few brats?” Though the left side of his mouth had twitched up, he was not smiling. Rather he had grown more antagonistic and taunting. “Wait around like a good little wife till death while he goes out and fucks his whores?”

  
Nao stared up at him, her previous emotions until that point draining until there was nothing but confusion at his aggression at something—someone?—she didn’t even want, and a small sense of suspicion. “…He’s just a stupid fling,” she mumbled, “And that’s not what I had in mind.”

  
Yamori’s lips stretched into a mirthless smirk, as if she were lying or trying to weasel her way out of playing his game. “What then?” he asked her. Nao bit her bottom lip, looking away from him as she quickly and carefully chose her next words.

  
Though she wasn’t suicidal, she couldn’t let something equally as deadly continue before he had had his fun terrifying her. And who knew if that moment was two months, or even two hours from now. Maybe there was a way out that she hadn’t thought of, hadn’t seen from behind the veil of abject fear and stress. But until she found it she had to stall, and what better way than with a gambit?

  
“A year. I want a year. And after it’s done, I’ll let you kill me.”


	11. Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think everyone should have a friend like Misa.

Within her life Nao had felt more than her fair share of anxious moments. Waiting for the Interrogator to call her down to that horrible room. Silently pleading for Eichiro-san—the dragon tattooed yakuza she’d met with before Kazuo—to count the payment faster and leave. Half of her performance reviews at work and any time she had to talk with the front desk receptionist—because what was more uncomfortable than talking with your “friend-with-benefit’s” friend with benefits?

  
All the times Nao had waited for her mother to come home at the end of a long night; secretly glad she had made it home safe, but both too ashamed to look the other in the eye. Unknowing that that shame would melt away into the passiveness that came with begrudging acceptance.

  
Nao felt that familiar tension thread through her body as she tried to gauge Yamori’s emotions, watching with increasing fear as his face shifted from blithe curiosity to a cross between anger and incredulity. “‘Let.'” He spat the word as if he’d never heard it; had never had it applied to him or his actions before. “You’ll _let_ me kill you?” Nao didn’t know whether to repeat herself and risk his anger, or stay silent. Pursing her lips she nodded her head once, the movement so slight she couldn’t be sure she’d done it at all.

  
Nao had long since known how terrifying silence could be, how uneasy and unbearable a thing it was when taken into account the bodily harm that had followed it in her experience. But when that beat of silence following that subtle nod ended with the ghoul’s hand curling into the tiled wall beside her head, the snaps and crunch echoing throughout the near-empty room, she found herself flinching away so violently her hip dug into the porcelain counter beside her. “What makes you think you have any power over what I do to you?” Yamori asked, his voice a low rumble as he threatened her with an overtly unamused look. It was the most serious Nao had ever seen him in the past months and it terrified her. Her breath turned shallow as he hunched his body over hers, so close his abdomen brushed against her chest, his body heat raising goosebumps all along her arms. “What’s to stop me from killing you right now?”

  
Nao’s heart had begun to pick up speed, her mouth suddenly dry as she simultaneously worked to regain her nerve and loosen her jaw just to whisper a denial of the one thing he’d told her he wanted. “I won’t scream.” There was no visible reaction to what she had said, no slight indicator that the ghoul had even heard her. But the longer he stayed silent, the bolder Nao got. “I won’t scream,” she repeated, louder this time with twice the warble in her voice, “I won’t beg—I’ll even try not to cry. I’ll be the most unsatisfying kill you’ve had in your life.”

  
While Nao liked the high note she had ended on, her confidence started to waver as vicious teeth smiled down at her. “You think I care if you’re boring to kill?” Yamori asked, neither backing off nor pressing her further into the wall.

  
“Why else would you even bother to work this hard to scare me?” Nao asked—blurted—a little part of her knowing full well that the diluted bit of alcohol she had consumed was now aiding this act of rashness and that it would fade away soon. Another part of her didn’t care. “What other reason could you possibly have to stalk me as much as you do?” she asked him, noticing how the heat of his anger had simmered to a broiling glare. Easing up on her tone, Nao dropped her voice to an octave above a murmur. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t know you followed me yesterday.” His lizard-like eyes narrowed further, any hint of amusement gone from him for the moment. “You have me in constant fear for my life, and I can’t live like that anymore,” she told him, before all but snarling at him, “So what do you want from me that’s so _goddamn important?_ ”

  
Her voice ringing in the silent room, Nao waited for Yamori to say something or laugh her off. At the very least snicker or make a snide comment. One thing that she hadn’t expected him to do was touch her. His large hands, rough on the bare skin of her arms, wrapped around her biceps so tightly her circulation was cut off. For a brief moment Nao felt that spike of terror pierce her brain right before he lifted her up, slamming her back into the huge mirror beside them so hard she was surprised that there was no crack when her head bounced. Instead there was a throbbing pain radiating throughout her skull as she forced her eyes to focus through sparks and look at Yamori.

  
Swirling black invaded the whites of his eyes, his irises pulsing a glowing red as he glared down at her. “I want you to fight for your pathetic life,” he answered, aggression pulsing off his body in waves as he pressed her back harder into the mirror, gripping her arms so tight she feared he’d break the bone. “You won’t cry? I’ll tear your eyes out of their sockets.” He released the pressure on one of her arms, wrapping the fingers of his right hand around the lower half of her face. “You’re not going to beg? I’ll break your jaw, and make you wish you had the slightest ability to speak.” Nao’s heart hammered in her chest as she listened to him speak, her eyes blown wide as tears pricked her eyes. Beside her the sink turned on automatically as part of her leg slid into the range of the spray, wetting her stockings and part of her dress. It brought a small part of her attention to how wide her legs had been spread on the counter, how high the hem of her dress had ridden up on her thighs. Yamori leaned in closer to her, his warm breath fanning her face as he wedged his hips between her knees, sliding his hand down from her face to her throat. “You won’t scream? I have time.”

  
Nao choked down the lump in her throat, her previous fear multiplying as the coarseness of his palm grated against her neck. She wasn’t sure which version of this she preferred more, the malicious amusement he’d shown her then, or the thinly-veiled annoyance and anger he was showing her now. But then again…if he was serious about killing her he’d have just done it by now.

  
“…Only if you don’t give me a year,” she said quietly, her voice shaky as every part of her body fought the urge to tremble as wave after wave of “fight-or-flight” response wracked through her. Holding on to the small belief that if he were ever serious about killing her, he would do it in a more pleasing situation. Not when she was inadvertently pissing him off in the girls’ bathroom of a club he probably frequented. “Please let me have a year, and I’ll give you my life. In the longest, most excruciating way possible.”

  
He narrowed his eyes at that, the black receding from his sclera as he put a few inches between their faces. He released both the remaining hand on her arm and the collar he had on her neck, resting them on the counter on either side of her hips. “And if I take it anyway?”

  
“Then the most you’ll hear from me is a whimper.”

  
Another long silence stretched between them as Yamori stared down at her, seeming to try and decide if he should call her bluff or humor her before he finally asked, “Why do you want a year?”

  
Nao started at the inquiry before quickly answering, “T-to tie up all my loose ends. Make sure my Mom will be okay.”

  
His brow twitched at that, so subtly Nao wondered if she’d imagined it as he said, “Why should I allow you the comfort?”

  
She bit her lip, looking away from his face and glancing around the restroom as she searched for an excuse, an idea. A bribe. But Nao had nothing of worth aside from her life, and if he were the type to take money, she had none to give. “…An—anything,” she finally settled on, “I’ll do anything.” She brought her eyes back to rest on his, watching with increasing trepidation as an interested light filled the merciless reds.

  
“Anything,” Yamori repeated, the grim line of his mouth quirking up a bit at the corner.

  
“I won’t help you murder someone,” Nao quickly added, unwilling to spend another morning cowering naked in her bathtub, washing blood from her body and trying to forget the pleasure and amusement the man had taken in the depraved act. A thought crossed her mind to ask what he’d done to the missing investigator; why he’d sought them out at all. She decided against it, knowing the answer well enough without asking given his disposition. Nao glanced down at the hem of her dress again, the top edge of her stockings showing. Her fingers twitched with the urge to do something about the hem, her breathing hitching as Yamori beat her to it. His hands spread over her thighs, pinning the material down and keeping it from riding up further. Suddenly she was very aware of the body between her legs.

  
Nao felt her chest tighten as Yamori asked, a sly smile on his face, “What else won’t you do?” While the tone had been genuine and harmless sounding enough, it paired horribly with his actions. Yet his hands dropped away easily enough as Nao pressed her knees together, drawing her legs up from around his waist onto the counter. 

  
“I won’t prostitute myself,” she told him as his mouth curved into a smirk.

  
“Anything else?” he asked, glancing down at the black stilettos Nao had borrowed as the pointed heels caught against the edge of the counter. 

  
“None that I can think of at the moment,” she answered, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest. That single kiss aside, Nao was unused to this sort of attention from him. From anyone for the most part aside from Matsuru, especially given the gaunt look she had acquired—“Though anything that makes me look a living corpse I’d like to avoid,” she quickly added, wondering herself what that all included aside from choking her and threatening her and leading her down secluded, dark alleys. “Do we have a deal?” Nao eyed him wearily as a contemplative look took over his face, an instant worry knotting her stomach as that smile slid from his face as he stooped down closer to her. Nao pressed back closer against the mirror as Yamori’s hand came up to cage her jaw, the tops of her knees pressed to his chest as he turned her face from one side to the other, up and down, and then just held her still. She didn’t dare breathe as he evaluated her face, taking stock of the pronunciation of her cheekbones and the deep hollows under her eyes, the sallowness of her skin.

  
Not that Yamori would ever tell her, but he’d seen much worse growing up in the back alleys of the Thirteenth. Men so desperate and weak they’d gnawed off their own arms and legs, and women so feeble from hunger they were little more than skeletons wrapped in skin. To him, her concern for her appearance was vain at best, and while it was irksome to think of the reason, he couldn’t resist mocking her with it.

  
“You afraid lover boy’s not gonna want you looking like this?” Yamori asked her, grinning as Nao let a brief haze of irritation and anger take over her, shaking his hand off her face as she glared up at him.

  
“I’m not going to bore you with my problems,” Nao said slowly, barely taking note of Yamori’s hand as he let it rest beside her shoe, “So if you don’t mind, please keep the fuck out of my private life and answer the damn question.”

  
Yamori stared down at her, looking to all the world like he was seriously considering her offer. To Nao he looked far too calculating, as though he knew of some loophole she hadn’t had the presence of mind to think of. “…Deal,” he said slowly as in one quick move his fingers wrapped around her ankle, pulling her flush against his body as an alarm rang through Nao’s head. Reflexively her hands curled into the lapels of his white suit, both keeping her distance and keeping her steady as she teetered on the edge of the counter. Beneath her, her dress had ridden up, the porcelain cool against the backs of her thighs as Yamori kept a firm grip on her calf. Above her, he leaned down low enough that his breath was hot against her ear. “But I want a taste each time I see you,” he murmured, a deep rumble that started deep in his chest; as though he were some pleased cat, “To remind me what I’m saving you for.”

  
Nao swallowed the lump in her throat, ignoring how close their centers had become as she bit out a single word she knew she’d come to regret. “… _Fine_.” That final note was the end of their conversation, with only his word as a singular promise to keep her alive until the following fall. Did Nao believe it? Did she trust it? Ironically or not, she wouldn’t bet her life on it. But regardless of the possibility of his betrayal Nao had to believe in it, if only to regain the semblance of normalcy she’d once had in her life before it all got screwed to hell. If only to be rest assured and to keep sane in the coming months, even as her clock started to tick down.

  
If only she didn’t have to entrust her life to the whims of a well-known, ill-reputed, blood-thirsty ghoul.

|13|

  
It wasn’t often when Nao found herself staring into space, with nothing on her mind but an empty slate of white. The one thing she could count on when such a thing occurred, however, was an unsettling calmness. As though her mind had hit the pause button on her life, and she was looking at a chaotic scene on a TV screen with not the slightest bit of emotional attachment. She despised those moments because there were so few, and they lasted so short an amount of time.

  
Raucous laughter brought Nao back into herself, the pause button no longer in effect as she looked around her darkened surroundings and realized she was still standing in the alley behind the bar. Tucked tight between the back entrance and a trashcan. A few dozen feet away a group of men passed by the mouth of the alley, oblivious to her presence as they took in the weekend nightlife. Nao pulled her cellphone out of her bag, finding with slight surprise that she’d stood there nearly twenty minutes—the entire length of her break.

  
With a resigned sigh Nao stepped away from the wall, the disks in her back popping as she stretched her arms above her head. It’d been nearly six months since the last time she had worked this job, though she couldn’t remember it being so exhausting. But then again, when had she ever had this amount of stress? She looked back towards the mouth of the alley, stalling for a few more seconds of fresh—though she used the term loosely—air before heading back into the hostess bar. Dropping her bag in the breakroom, Nao made her way out onto the floor, side-stepping ill-placed heels and cosplay equipment as she shed her world-weary, down-trodden self and slipped on the faux-warmth of a happy, energetic hostess with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  
For six hours a night she was not Kohana Nao, the meek former employee of a psychopath, and current victim of a vicious sadist. Instead she was the shy “Nezzumicchi”, the soft-spoken “Mouse-chan”. It continued to burn her all these years that despite being unaware of her old high-school nickname—and having been told (sworn) that Misa had not blabbed—the manager of the bar had picked it out based solely on the idea that Nao was “cute and small and quiet—like a little mouse.” Though at the time Nao had been too grateful for the part-time job to care what she was called.

  
Though at that time when the first few of her customers—after getting plastered on diluted whiskey and fake affection—started to make little teasing digs that “ _everything_ about Nezzumicchi was small” while staring pointedly (and brazenly) down at her near-nonexistent cleavage, she had quickly found herself gnashing her teeth and forcing herself to smile and laugh. The only highlight of those first few weeks had been when one of her customers had been comped a free visit and a bottle of sake—right after Misa (who had finally overhead the comments) had tipped a glass of wine on his crotch, and right after grabbing a napkin and not-so-subtly palming him, looked up at him and said, with pure pity on her face and thick in her voice, “ _everything_ about you is small, too.”

  
Nao’s lip quirked up at the memory, stifling a laugh as she grabbed a silver tray from the bar area and made her rounds around the room, picking up glasses from empty tables and replacing empty bottles of booze in a few occupied corners. A few times the manager called her over for customer’s asking for Nezzumicchi. With her last customer of the night before her shift ended, Nao let herself slip into a small reverie, finding it safe as the young man beside her was worse of a stuttering mess than she was, and seemed to be unaccustomed to this sort of place.

  
To say that Nao felt reassured by her deal would be a lie, but it was one she had to believe in as she copied the fake smiles around her. Following the motions of dozens of others as she poured him a tumbler of diluted whiskey and asked him what his hobbies were. Glancing away as he gave a muttered response, Nao caught the tail end of a joke or story as Misa opened her mouth in a laugh, leaning against the arm of a much older gentleman in the booth near the back. For a second Nao’s mind was cast back to the week before as the young man seated beside her brought the glass up to his lips and grimaced at the taste.

  
If Misa had wondered where Nao had disappeared to, she didn’t ask or comment on it. When Nao had returned to the dance floor no less than half-an-hour later, Misa had wordlessly grabbed her hands with a gleaming, multi-colored smile, and pulled her into the writhing throng. Dancing so far into the night that she had ended up crashing at Misa’s place and sleeping until noon. It was only later when Nao had taken two things into account about that night: the first was the bitter acknowledgement that whatever Yamori had meant by “taste” would include more biting. The second was the fact that Nao had forgotten to set certain boundaries in place—which mainly consisted of no more meetings in dark alleys. As it was, the only thing Nao had had the good sense to do was write down her phone number on the back of the club’s card. The bastard had never let his smirk drop as she handed it over and practically ran from the restroom. 

  
Nao’s mind snapped back to the present as the young man next to her tried to ask her something, his fingers knotting together over and over while Nao’s own stayed fixed to her knees. “If—If I were t-to come back again…would-would you be here—would you be happy to see me?” Tilting her head just so, Nao slid a shy smile on her face, peeking up from under her lashes the way she’d seen Misa do.

  
“We spoke so little, are you sure _you’re_ happy with _me?_ ” she asked, watching as he panicked and stumbled over his next words.

  
“I’ll stay—I’ll talk longer next time! I promise!”

  
Leaning closer to him, Nao slid her left hand onto his leg, high enough on his thigh that he burned a deep red and froze ramrod straight. “I’ll always be glad to see you…” Nao started, trailing off as she realized she’d forgotten the name he’d half-stuttered out. He didn’t seem to notice the slip as he replied,

  
“Then can I—I mean—I’ll come to see you again—soon.”

  
Nao took slight pleasure in the expectant/hopeful look in his black eyes. It was a refreshing break from the easy, suggestive brown eyes of Matsuru, the leering, merciless blacks of Kazuo, and the amused, homicidal reds of Yamori’s. “I’ll be looking forward to your next visit,” she replied airily, without a second thought as his face broke into a wide, joyful smile. Nao’s felt her heart skip a beat at the image of innocent happiness, rather than lust and sadism.

  
He left her then, stumbling over his feet as he kept casting glances back to her before the front door cut him from view. Nao stayed where she was seated on the love seat, swiping the drink he’d barely touched from the glass table before her and drinking it down. As it burned in her throat Nao absentmindedly fingered the silken glove covering her left arm, feeling the cotton stuffing the index finger rub against the sensitive scaring. Idly wondering if the young man had noticed the difference. If she were another person, Nao might’ve felt outraged or humiliated being made to wear something to hide her disfigurement from the patrons. But as Nao held her hand up to the light and looked at a completeness she hadn’t seen in the last three years, all she felt was a nostalgia and a pang of regret—for what she didn’t know. 

  
_No, that’s not true,_ she argued, _I regret taking that stupid job._ Nao let her hand drop and gulped down the rest of the whiskey before she got up to go to the bar area. Looking around the room, Nao wondered if she should make one last round with drinks, before her eyes stopped on someone she hadn’t expected to see.

  
His auburn hair had been swept back from its usual unruly mess, though a few tufts had sprung up along the back of his head, and still he wore that flashy orange shirt and jacket as he leaned back into the arms of a buxom brunette, while another hung onto his arm. Nao stared at the evidence of a small world, but the shock soon wore off the longer she watched him drink and joke around. _How very in character,_ she commented to herself, hiding a sneer as she grabbed one of the sake bottles behind the counter and brought it over to a corner booth at the call of her high-school nickname. For a minute Nao played with the idea of giving Kazuo some of the money due the following week, but given how drunk and…preoccupied he appeared to be, he’d be liable to forget she’d paid him. He might even spend the money here.

  
 _I’ll wait to do it next week,_ she decided, casting him a second cursory glance before she went back to finish her shift.


	12. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A little gore? If you squint, it might be kinky.

In high school Nao was a remarkably average student. And after her father’s suicide…that small fact did not change, save for a sullen edge added to her otherwise nonexistent presence. After graduation, that averageness in her work did not change. Café barista, housekeeper, cashier, janitor, secretary, hostess—they were all a means to an end, and not one of them were even in the realm of what Nao had envisioned her dream career as.

  
Hell, she didn’t even remember what she wanted to be when she was little.

  
 _That’s probably a good thing. My younger self would be disappointed in how she turned out,_ Nao mused as she slid her jacket over her shoulders and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

  
Two months had gone by since her deal with Yamori—since she had last seen him actually—and Nao had…mixed feelings about his apparent absence. On the one hand, she felt less nervous than she did several months ago. While she’d kept on at her second job, she felt moderately more rested than when she had stayed up half the night following the most recent meetings with Yamori. On the other hand, Nao never let slip the fact that she had no guarantee on her life other than his word—which frankly Nao trusted as much as she trusted Matsuru when he said she’d “see stars”. So when Nao stepped out into the alley—as she had been doing every night when she went on break—her body froze when she heard a scuffling sound deep in the dark.

  
Nao’s awareness of the dark had not changed, though she had done well in training herself not to jump at every sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. She steeled herself as she glanced over her shoulder, just in time to watch a mottled grey cat saunter into the circle of light from the bulb perched atop the back-alley exit. Two little glowing disks stared at her as Nao stared back, her nerves calming the slightest bit as the cat skittered past her in pursuit of some vermin. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door, relaxing as she waited out her break time.

  
But the itch that had entered her brain with the cat did not leave. That familiar heaviness returned to settle over her like a cloak. Cautiously Nao opened an eye, peeking out the corner to the blackened end of the alley. There was no movement, no sound. She opened both eyes and squinted, trying to see further as she stepped away from the door. Goosebumps rose on her arms the longer she glared down the alley, a lump forming in her throat. Nao choked it down as she steeled herself for what was about to happen. Despite the mid-December air, she knew the chills wracking her body was because of him. Was because he was up to his tricks again, trying to call her out on her bluff. Nao whirled around on her heel, slipping a bit on a thin patch of ice as she turned to face—

  
No one. Just the lighted part of the alley leading to the street, and hundreds of people walking past—none-the-wiser to Nao as she got herself worked up over nothing. Nao’s breath came out in harsh puffs of white as her chest pounded with useless adrenaline. The heavy sensation had come and gone, leaving Nao lightheaded and feeling very foolish. She clicked her tongue in self-admonishment, bringing her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her paranoia aside, Nao knew what she felt. Whether now or later, he would be back.

  
But for now he was gone, and she was wasting her break on nothing. Or so she thought when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. Nao twisted away, sliding a heavy glare on her face that quickly melted into stunned discomfiture.

  
“Jumpy much?” Misa laughed, a small unsure laugh flowing from her lips as she let her hand drop to her side.

  
Nao tamped down her nerves, asking, “What are you doing out here?” She took a deep breath and let it out slow in a steady stream while Misa reached into the pocket of her coat.

  
“Taking my break early,” she replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a bright pink lighter. “And I saw you come out here. Thought you might like the company,” she mumbled around the slim stick as she flicked the lighter open and held the little flame to the end until it glowed red. “Want one?” Misa asked, holding out the pack with a raised eyebrow.

  
Nao wrinkled her nose in distaste and politely passed on the offer. “I thought you quit?” she said instead, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself and tucking her hands beneath her armpits as a strong wind blew down the alley. Misa’s hair whipped around her face, but she took no notice as she sucked in one long breath of ash and tilted her head back. Her eyes heavy lidded as she let a thick, smoky cloud leave her lungs.

  
“The holidays are my cheat days; don’t tell my old lady,” Misa curtly said, staring at Nao over the end of her cigarette. It was barely a week into December and not nearly close enough to Christmas or New Years, and while Nao wouldn’t rat Misa out to her mother, neither did she like the habit. But rather than get caught in a lengthy argument neither would win, Nao let it slide, and settled back against the wall opposite the door Misa was leaning against.

  
“What’s up with you? Why are you so on edge lately?” Misa asked as she ground out her cigarette on the pavement and took out another, lighting up while Nao simply shrugged her shoulders. “Is the office slut not putting out?”

  
Several weeks back Nao had let slip to Misa that she and Matsuru had not slept together since…well, since the night Yamori had chocked her into unconsciousness—not that she had phrased it that way. She did not tell her, however, that she was the one who had rebuffed his pseudo-affections. Nao felt sure the last time he’d talked to her, it’d been a cool, off-the-shoulder remark about the weather before he’d swiftly left the break room three weeks ago. The last time she’d seen him had been several days ago. Nao could still hear the breathy, stifled moans from inside the supply closet. And no matter what, she could not get the image of a hand slipped down the front of the lobby receptionist’s skirt out of her mind.

  
Had it been any other time, Nao would have felt furiously jealous. At the very least she would have felt slighted that Matsuru was having sex with her in such a public place, when Nao had been hidden away in a broom closet in the most ill-used part of the building. Now…now she felt embarrassed to have caught such a scene, and wondered why anyone would screw where someone could catch them, and possibly get them fired.

  
“He can fuck whoever he wants. Let someone else deal with his “star” bullshit,” Nao grumbled, grimacing at the memories of herself falling for such a stupid line, only to be left alone in the company breakroom. Stuck wondering if she should wait until later that night—or the night after if she was unlucky—or if she should take care of it herself in the restroom.

  
More often than she was proud to admit, she chose the latter option.

  
“Y’know, some of the customers are pretty nice guys, I’m sure one of them would be happy to help you take the edge off.”

  
“Aren’t some of them married?” Nao asked, raising a brow at Misa’s suggestion.

  
Misa shrugged a shoulder and slid a sly smile on her face. “What’s a little fun after business hours?” she said as she exhaled a last drag and stomped the cigarette out.

  
“I think I’ll pass.”

  
Conversation devolved into idle wonder if there’d be snow this year, if Misa was going home to visit her parents, and if Nao was doing the same. Pretty soon their break ended and Misa—leaving a third smoldering cigarette on the pavement—pulled open the door. Nao pushed off the opposite wall and went to catch it as her friend started to mention a change to the usual wardrobe. Nao just barely caught the words “antlers” and “bells” when she suddenly felt that same premonition from earlier overwhelm her. Misa did not notice Nao pause in the doorway as she continued to talk, disappearing further inside while Nao stayed behind. When she thought Misa was far enough out of range, Nao said over her shoulder to the hidden man, “I’ll give you your pound of flesh when my shift’s over.” With that Nao walked inside the bar, letting the door slam shut behind her. 

  
On the edge of the roof, far above where she’d been standing, the ghoul let a smile spread over his features, his mouth salivating at the thought of his teeth sinking into her soft flesh. Of taking what he was due for all the time and patience he was putting into her. He could hardly wait to taste her. And so he jumped down from the rooftop, one last cursory glance thrown over the hostess bar before he left to slake his bloodlust elsewhere for the time being.

|13|

  
Nao had naturally assumed Yamori would accost her either the moment she left the hostess bar, or along her way home from it. She was disdained to discover, however, that he had chosen instead to wait by her front door. Nao was unsure whether to feel relieved that he wasn’t already inside, or continue to be irked that he knew where she lived. In the end neither mattered as a hot wave of embarrassment flooded through her when he smirked at a spot above her head and said,

  
“And here I thought mice didn’t grow antlers.” 

  
Blushing, Nao yanked the horned headband from her hair, casting the short locks askew as she dug through her purse for her keys. “How do you know about that?” she asked him, unable to look at him as she fumbled with the lock. Yamori turned to lean his shoulder against the wall, watching with amusement as Nao tried and failed to unlock the door with shaking hands.

  
“Saw your nickname on your picture outside the shop. I’ve thought about going in, but that would cause you “emotional distress.” Right?” Nao glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, unsure it if he was mocking her or not, while her hands fell still enough for the key’s teeth to catch the latch.

  
“…thanks for respecting that,” she muttered out of suspicion for his apparent acceptance of the terms of their arrangement. Nao pushed open the door and walked inside. Behind her she heard Yamori’s heavy footsteps on her floorboards, and a soft click as the door closed behind him. “Can I get you anything?” she asked, awkwardly balancing on one foot as she took off her heels one at a time, tossing them aside as she unwound her scarf from around her neck, and threw it—along with her purse and the fake antlers—onto the table. “Water? Coffee?” Over her shoulder Nao gave him a dry look as she unbuttoned her jacket. “A heart on a plate?”

  
He cracked a smile as he looked around her small apartment with feigned interest. “Water. For now,” he added as an afterthought. A shiver went down her spine as she shrugged off her jacket and laid it on a chair.

  
“Feel free to have a seat,” she said softly, moving past him to her small kitchen. She heard more footsteps and the squeak of a door as she got a glass down from the cupboard and started filling it with tap water. Nao kept Yamori at the periphery of her vision until he disappeared into her bedroom, fighting the urge to keep herself from stopping him when she knew full well that he’d been in there at least once before. She turned the faucet off when the water filled near the top and followed where he’d gone. Nao wasn’t sure what she expected to find him doing, but even so she was slightly surprised to find him looking at her small wall of pictures.

  
He had a contemplative look on his face as his eyes slowly dragged over the faces of her friends and family; over Misa and Sacha and her older cousin Jirou, her mom. He stopped on the sole picture of her father: a picture her mom had taken of them on his las…his forty-first birthday. Wordlessly Nao came to stand next to him, staring at any picture but that one as she handed him the water. If he wanted to ask about the picture—about why she had multiple pictures of her friends and family (even a cousin she hadn’t talked to in five years) and only one of her father—he didn’t. He just brought the glass up to his lips and drank it down.

  
When he handed the empty glass back and still said nothing, Nao took the opportunity to ask something that had weighed on her mind a lot the last few years; something she could never quite understand. “I want…I want to ask you something,” she started, chickening out before she even got the words out, “Do you still think about it? That room?”

  
“Always,” he finally said after a long beat.

  
Nao tried to ask again. “Why didn’t…I want to know…why you didn’t kill him.” Nao heard him scoff at the question, but rather than let it drop, she continued on. “After everything he did to you, why did you let him live?”

  
“After what I did to you, you ask about that interrogator?” he asked derisively, turning to face her as he nodded towards her mauled arm. “Why do you care?”

  
She didn’t. “I saw fifteen ghouls who would have given anything to end that…that… _monster’s_ life,” Nao tried to explain, “You had the opportunity…and you didn’t take it.” Yamori had neither the slightest smirk on his face, or any hint of the amusement he normally possessed as he looked down at her. 

  
“…You saw what I did after half an hour,” he spoke slowly, “Can you imagine what I did after you passed out?” Nao swallowed the lump in her throat, vivid memories passing through her mind as she remembered the shapeless lump that had been lying in the corner. At that point he had been covered in so much blood and open wounds that she had nearly mistaken him for Yamori. She could only imagine what more the ghoul could have done to the man. “I wanted him to suffer. For it to last longer than our one session together.” His lips twitched into a smirk; that mirth coming back into his eyes. “And I bet it still does whenever he looks in a mirror.”

  
Nao could only stare at him as he spoke, her hands unconsciously tightening around the glass as a dark sort of familiarity flowed through her. “You’re not asking why I didn’t kill him. You’re asking why I didn’t put him out of his misery.” A slow smile spread over his lips as he took in Nao’s paling face, and the increasing beat of her heart. In her peripheral vision Nao noticed his hand twitch as he brought his thumb over his forefinger, stifling a shudder as he cracked the digit. “But why do you want to know? Because you were hoping I still had some compassion in that broken body you saw?” Before Nao knew what had happened she had backed into a wall. Had unconsciously put distance between himself and her even as he stayed where he stood, watching her with a creeping smile. Because for a moment, just a moment, he had seemed like the Interrogator. 

  
He broke his stillness then, pressing her back further into the wall as he walked to where she stood. Leaning down so close to her ear that the press of his cheek against hers was almost intimate. “Or were you hoping that I’d kill him for you?” Nao took in a shuddering breath made of nervousness and surprise. She couldn’t say a word as he continued to murmur in her ear, a rumbling purr too soft for his cruel words. “I might’ve been halfway out of my mind that day, but I still remember that knife at your throat. That blood on your face. Pathetic little Nao-chan trying to fight off the interrogator when he had you pinned to the ground and ready to carve open your insides—if he didn’t fuck you first.” Nao’s breaths were harsh even in her ears; flinching when his fingertips touched her face, and trailed her jawline down.

  
“The lust coming off him was disgusting,” Yamori said, forcing her chin up to make her look him in the eye. Nao didn’t know what he saw there; she suspected a sort of sickened realization of what might’ve happened had the ghoul before her not unwittingly diverted his attention back to his original punishment. “But your fear…” He trailed off, his chest brushing against her as he inhaled her scent. In the moonlight from the window all Nao saw clearly was the glint of his teeth and his red, red eyes as they flooded black and glowed with bliss. “I would’ve come if I wasn’t so damn out of it.”

  
“Stop it…” Nao whispered. But he ignored her; continuing on with an accusation.

  
“How badly did you hope that when you woke up in that hospital bed that he was dead, huh?” he asked her, “That I did what you could never hope to do with that weak body of yours.”

  
Back when she had woken up in that bed—her hair still tangled with blood, and her arm wrapped in thick layers of gauze—her first thought had been wonderment that she was still alive. The second was what exactly had happened to her arm. It wasn’t until the Investigators came to talk to her a few hours later that she even knew the Interrogator had lived through the ordeal. The only thing Nao could say about the information they told her was that she was surprised. The thing she wasn’t proud to feel was a bitter pang of disappointment—because the Interrogator would have gotten _exactly_ what he deserved.

  
Nao neither confirmed nor denied what Yamori said. She only clenched her teeth, and looked at him. “You can say what you want about me,” she told him, her body jittering despite the steel of her words, “but I’ve seen you at your absolute _worst_.” His smile melted away then; his eyes keeping their blackened quality as they narrowed down at her. His thinly-veiled malice worsening as she said, “How weak you must have been…to get caught and sent into the hands of that disgusting psychopath.”

  
Nao winced, gritting her teeth as he grabbed her left wrist and tightened his grip on her jaw. “The last time I brought you back here, you were covered in someone else’s blood,” Yamori warned her, slipping his hand down her throat until it pressed tauntingly against the base. “Don’t think that just because you’re still alive I won’t kill you.”

  
“And is this how you imagined it?” she asked him. Nao had no idea where this bravado had come from—whether because he had insinuated her wanting someone dead, or because she was tired and just wanted to sleep. For all she knew at this moment he would suffocate her or—quite literally—rip her throat out, and her taunting him was just going to make that fear a reality.

  
When his scowl turned into a mocking smirk, a lump formed in Nao’s throat. She bit the inside of her cheek as he dropped his hand from her neck to grasp her other arm’s wrist, forcing her to drop the glass she’d been holding onto like a lifeline as he brought both hands up to either side of her head and pinned them there. “No,” he said, “Do you want to know how it will be?”

  
Nao tasted metal in her mouth as she cut the inside of her cheek. Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head. Undeterred by her answer he leaned in once more. “I’m going to eat the rest of your arm,” he began, “and burn the wound so you’ll live just long enough to watch me take everything from you. Do you know why?”

  
“No,” Nao whispered, her heart beating faster in her chest as mental imaginings ran rampant through her mind. Down her chin she felt a thin bit of blood drip out of her mouth. Yamori’s eyes clocked the slight movement, his tongue wetting his lower lip before he answered his question.

  
“Because the weak are trampled. They are overrun. They are violated, and they are afflicted.” He dipped down in one quick move, licking away the blood staining her chin. “You can pretend to be brave, but let me remind you of something.” His lips brushed against hers as he talked, a shiver running down her spine as her face flushed at the intimate contact. “You have ten months left to live; don’t waste them by pissing off ghouls.”

  
“…You’ve made you’re point,” Nao said, turning her face away from his, “Please just take what you want and let me sleep.” She felt his laugh rumble through her bones as he released her left arm to force her to face him. For a brief moment Nao locked eyes with Yamori’s, and wondered why she’d never noticed the thin red veins forking out from the black pooling around the iris’. The thought disappeared as quickly as it came when Yamori turned her face towards the wall beside them. The hair on the back of her neck rising and a shudder wracking through her body as his tongue traced a slow line from her earlobe to her collarbone, and further on to her shoulder. Letting go of her face he hooked his thumb around the straps of her dress and bra and slid it off her shoulder. Nao reached out her maimed hand and grabbed the starched lapels of his suit jacket as he scrapped his teeth against her skin. Nao could barely stifle the yelp of pain as the ghoul sank his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, and left another circlet engraved on her skin.

|13|

  
One of the jobs Nao had among the many she did as a secretary involved gathering scores of material from the archives room two floors below the basement for the managers and executives near the top of the twenty-sum story tower. Throughout the two weeks since Yamori’s visit, she had gotten out of it by claiming her arm was acting up. It wasn’t entirely a lie; it’d happened before (though not for nearly as long), and the shoulder he had bitten was part of that arm. Still, when one of her coworkers walked by carrying a box stuffed with files, she couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty.

  
Though when the slightest movement of her shoulder sent an ache through her collarbone, those feelings disappeared.

  
Nao tugged away the tape holding the square piece of gauze in place, grimacing at the purple tinge surrounding the indentation of Yamori’s teeth. There were two things Nao considered lucky about this latest addition to her list of scars. The first was that—despite how painful it had been—it didn’t look deep enough to warrant stitches. The second was that, given the amount of force he had put into his bite, he hadn’t broken any bones. In spite of those things however, Nao had been diligent in soaking her shoulder in saltwater, and cleaning out the area with antiseptic and “antibacterial”-everything.

  
She’d done it so often the stinging pain eventually became a dull ache, and despite the fading bruising it appeared to be healing up quite nicely. Lightly Nao ran a finger along the raised edges where his teeth had dug in, over the scabs covering each individual scrape of his tooth. In the moment she had been solely focused on the searing pain ripping through her body, and trying every viable way to distract herself from it. Nao had taken great heaving breaths, keeping her eyes squeezed tight as her flesh was torn. Her hand had eventually loosened its tight grip on Yamori’s jacket, to grab at the back of his thick neck, her short nails scrapping the skin there.

  
Nao stared at the mirror before her blankly, recalling the memory as if she were looking through a screen. Feeling almost dispassionate as she watched her fingers trail up to grasp the short blond hair covering the back of his head. The texture hadn’t felt altogether unpleasant. Unlike Matsuru’s hair, it did not feel smoothed by gel, or soft. It had felt…somewhat coarse, and sleek. If that at all made sense.

  
Nao shook the memory away, glancing at his bite mark in the mirror before taking a bandage out of the box, and gently sticking it on. She didn’t really need to keep it covered anymore now that it had scabbed over, but with the discoloration as it was, Nao didn’t want a coworker to accidently see the bruising and assume it was a bite made under very _different_ circumstances. She especially didn’t want her customers to see it and think they could do something similar—as it was their hands already had habits of drifting. 

  
She moved the strap of her dress to cover the bandage before affixing barrettes adorned with bells to her hair and yanking striped stockings up higher on her thighs. Nao took one last look in the mirror, and grimaced at her appearance. Rather than a hostess going out to entertain businessmen and men too awkward to talk, Nao looked like an elf—a rather slutty one if the short red dress riding up her legs and the four-inch coal-black heels was anything to go by. Her only source of comfort was that every other woman on the floor looked much the same save for species portrayal.

  
 _I wonder if Misa will want these heels back if they’re stained with my blood,_ Nao thought, her back ramrod straight as she left the restroom, trying not to fall, trip, or twist an ankle on her way to the bar area. Five feet and Nao could already feel a blister on the balls of her feet. Masking a grimace, Nao reached behind the bar and took out a silver tray, loading it with a bottle of brandy, whiskey, and a couple highball glasses. Before she could make the rounds around the room, the barista—a somewhat paranoid woman Nao only knew as Minatsuki-san—grabbed her arm.

  
Nao raised a questioning eyebrow at her, Minatsuki in turn narrowed her eyes at her before dropping down behind the counter and popping back up with a dark red bottle in her hands. “This goes to the man in the booth— _only_ the man in the booth. Make that very clear to Tsuki-chan,” she said, carefully setting the wine bottle on top of Nao’s tray and placing a single wine glass beside it. Nao’s brows knitted together at the perplexity that was Minatsuki before turning her back on her. She’d known the woman on-and-off the last two years and the only thing Nao could say about her was that she was a diligent worrywart.   
Even as she set the bottle on the tabletop, she could feel the heat of Minatsuki’s eyes on her back. She’d seen the dark-red bottles a few times before. Label-less, locked in a container behind the bar counter; half the women there wondered what it tasted like—a few had even asked their customer’s for a small sip, but been denied with a shake of their head and a secretive smile. When the bottle was polished off, Minatsuki took care of the cleanup, not even the cork or the smallest spill remaining behind.

  
Nao wasn’t much of a red wine drinker, but even she had grown curious about how it tasted, and why it was reserved for so few patrons. Her curiosity piqued once more, she kept an eye on the couple in the booth as she made her way around the room. It didn’t pour smoothly, that much was obvious as it splashed against the sides of the glass, and dripped down the outside in slow, thick droplets. As the man drank it down it left behind a red film.

  
She propped a hip against an empty two-seater a little over an hour later, watching as Minatsuki wiped down the table and corked the half-empty bottle. If Misa were here they’d talk a bit about the bottles before devolving into Misa listing off Minatsuki’s quirks and how big a stick she must have up her ass. Instead she had gone back to their hometown for a few days, leaving Nao to wonder about the bottle by herself and why Minatsuki was so strict about them.

  
 _If it were expensive the clients would be more impressive-looking. They just look like regular salarymen,_ she mused, an unsettling feeling swirling in her gut. There’s something off about those bottles. Nao was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the sound of her nickname until the manager clasped her left shoulder and gave her a jog. Her teeth clenched around a yelp of pain and surprise, Nao whisked around to face him, grateful the tray was empty as it nearly tumbled to the ground. His brows knitted together at her surprised reaction, hesitating for a brief moment before he said, “Nishikawa-san is your next customer. He’s over there in the booth.” He looked over her once more with a concerned look on his face before he left, leaving her to smooth her expression into one of grateful surprise as she carefully made her way over to the nervous young man.

  
“Nizaki-san!” she exclaimed as she sat down beside him. His bright face fell as he corrected her.

  
“M-my name is N-Nishikawa.”

  
Biting her tongue Nao smiled through her mistake. “Right! Of course, I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I haven’t seen you in so long I sort of forgotten.”

  
He didn’t mirror her smile, his frown one of disillusionment as he faced away from her and said lowly, monotonously, “You must see a lot of men. I must be just another face in the crowd to you.”

  
Nao let her smile fade, sympathy filling her as she scooted closer to him. “I’m always happy to see you Nishikawa-san,” she told him, laying her hand on his leg as she tried to get his attention back, “I’ve just been a little distracted lately.” When he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye, Nao offered him a smaller, reassuring smile. “Please let me make it up to you—is there anything you’d like to drink?” A slight grin lit his face as he turned back to her, laying his hand over hers on his knee as he shook his head and started to talk in his usual joyful way.

  
If she were to be honest, Nao would say that he was the sole person—aside from Misa and Sacha—she looked forward to seeing, even if their conversations were one-sided in nature. She enjoyed the bit of rest and reprieve Nishikawa gave her from her dour reality, the distraction he provided as he sought her attention. And maybe that was why throughout their session together there were two things Nao had not taken notice of. The first was the near absence of his constant stutter. The second was the subtle shift in his demeanor from his usual openness to something resembling reserved caution.


	13. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nao is visited by the men of "Horrors and Disappointments" past, present, and future. And finds comfort in the most unlikely of choices.

She hadn’t intended to go—at least, not at first.

  
Nao hadn’t lied to Misa per se, because she had meant what she’d said three weeks ago. She was done with being one woman among many. She was sick of being more frustrated than satisfied. And she was tired of being jealous over what was supposed to be a stupid fling. It was just so hard to remember all that when her life had turned into pain and blackmail, and—despite his being a vindictive ass—Matsuru helped her forget it for just a little while.

  
And so it was that Nao found herself sitting beside him at a food stand, an uncompanionable silence between them as they slurped down ramen. It was a shock when Matsuru had asked her to join him for dinner—“as coworkers” he’d said—and impulsively she’d agreed. She wanted to think it was the prospect of a good meal she didn’t have to cook herself, but truthfully she just wanted the company of someone who wasn’t paying her, taking money from her, or planning to eat her. 

  
Her reasons aside, Nao hadn’t understood why Matsuru—who had been particularly cold to her as of late—asked her out until they’d walked out into the lobby. She could practically still feel the heat from the receptionist’s glare on her back and felt it even stronger as she recalled the reason _why_. Because it was New Years’ Eve, and rather than lead Kikuhara-san on or be alone on the last night of the year, he’d chosen Nao. To be frank Nao wasn’t entirely sure whether to be glad the other woman had been snuffed, or just plain suspicious.

 _If I pay for this then we’re back to being friends at work. If he pays…I’ll indulge myself and buy a robotic toy. At least I’ll get off for once,_ Nao decided as she set her chopsticks down and reached for her glass of beer. A few minutes earlier Matsuru had tried to lure her into small talk—some gossip he’d heard in the upper floors. It ended as soon as it had begun when she’d casually asked him if he believed everything he heard. The silence continued until Nao’s curiosity got the better of her and she asked,

  
“Why did you invite me out, Matsuru-san?”

  
His ramen noodles hanging in midair, Matsuru looked over at her with surprise. She stared back, waiting as he seemed to fish for an answer. “Why? Well…” he began, pausing as he looked around the open air—as through he could get a reply from the people walking by behind them, or from the owner as he served the people next to them. “You usually don’t go home to visit your family, so I thought you might be a little lonely,” he finally said.

  
“So, it’s for my benefit,” Nao deadpanned, her lip curling as she turned back to her dinner.

  
“For mine, too,” he hastened to say, an easy grin spreading on his face as he nudged her side lightly, “since I haven’t spent any time with my cute Kohana-chan.” Bitterness rose up in her like bile. She wasn’t sure which part irritated her more: that’d he’d said it like she was a pet to be put aside at his convenience, or that despite the familiarity between them he still used her surname. Before she could stop it, the words spilt out in a tone not dissimilar from jealousy. 

  
“Isn’t that because you’ve been spending all your time with Kikuhara-san?”

  
Nao knew there was still sound around her, still movement and people and all manner of noise. But it felt like everything had gone silent in the time it took Matsuru to grasp her rash words. It vexed her when a surprised sort of laughter tumbled from his lips. “Haha! Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You’re jealous?” he asked, looking at her as if she really was as cute as he’d said.

  
“I never said that,” Nao rushed to say. Matsuru laughed her off, his hand coming up to wrap around her shoulder. Nao couldn’t help the rush of heat that colored her face; indulging for a selfish moment in the warmth emanating from beneath his coat. Admittedly she missed this—the closeness, the physical contact. A friend among people who thought she was off-putting. And for a second, she forgot why she had wanted to end the unspoken arrangement between them. 

  
Until he opened his mouth and ruined the moment. “If you feel that strongly, we can go out again soon for a couple drinks,” he said, his voice lowering a few octaves, “and who knows how the night will end?”

  
Nao glared into the broth of her ramen, her disfigured hand tightening around the handle of her beer. “…We spend so much time together, but we don’t know anything about each other. Do we?” She’d mostly murmured it to herself, but with Matsuru’s proximity to her, he thought the question for himself.

  
He pointed his chin towards her hand. “If it means that much to you, then why don’t you tell me about your attack?” Nao looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She knew he was curious—had been curious since she’d started working at the office. He’d asked her once two years ago when they first started sleeping together though she’d declined to say anything, unwilling to talk about the monster stalking her subconscious. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he told her, sliding his arm from across her shoulders as he went back to his food. He gained a disinterested air as he hunched over his bowl, leaning away from her as he said, “but I can’t exactly get to know you if you won’t tell me anything.”

  
Nao could see he was manipulating her, playing her. She looked down at her hand, rubbing a thumb over where her knuckle used to be. He wanted a story—like everyone else. He wanted to be afraid—like everyone else. Like her. So why not give him a horror story if he wanted it that much? “…It was three…no. It’s going on four years now,” she began slowly. “I don’t know what I was thinking; being there in that place—”

  
“What place?” Matsuru asked her. Nao looked over at him, watched the curiosity and interest flit across his face. The want for a story that wasn’t his to hear—a story he frankly didn’t deserve to have. In a split-second decision she decided to give it to him: a story full of fiction and hear-say.

  
“…The Thirteenth,” she answered quietly. She’d went back to her food, her focus on swallowing spoonful’s of broth. But she clearly heard his soft intake of breath and could easily imagine the shock on his face. Because he didn’t think Nao was the type of person to go there—a place full of clubs, and pachinko parlors, and love hotels. And ghouls. He was right of course since the few times she’d been there she’d either been dragged by a friend or desperate. “I didn’t know what kind of place it was. I’d heard the rumors, of course, but I didn’t believe them. I mean— _ghouls_. Monsters who eat people? You might as well believe in vampires or Santa Claus.”

  
“So why did you go there?” Matsuru asked.

  
“Because my friend invited me to a club,” she replied, “and because I didn’t think anything would happen.” Matsuru snorted. “I was twenty-two—who believes they’re going to die when they’re young?” Nao said defensively.

  
“So, you went there. Then what happened?”

  
Nao paused in her fake story. She could recall with perfect clarity what had happened—hell, she had dreamed about it constantly the last four years. “It was dark. And it was quiet. I didn’t want to go there but…I had to.”

  
“Why did you have to? Did your friend force you or something?” he asked, bringing her back into the lie she was supposed to be telling.

  
Nao shrugged. “I just did. And it was the worst. Mistake. Of my life.” Nao grabbed her glass of beer and drank it down to the foam. “You know, I didn’t even know he was behind me until it happened,” she said, slamming her beer back down on the counter, her eyes glued to the faux-wood grain of the food stall. “I made a fool of myself trying to get away, and the whole time…” she paused, shaking her head free of the images running through her mind, “the whole time he just smiled at me. Like I was a pathetic animal.”

  
Matsuru was silent for a time, watching her carefully as she ordered another beer from the stall owner. And then he said quietly, “You’re lucky it didn’t take your life.”

  
 _I was until I sold it back to him,_ Nao thought sullenly, sipping at the bitter fluid.  
“Did you see it’s claws?”

  
“Claws?” Nao raised a brow at him as she lowered the glass from her lips.  
“You know, the thing the CCG calls…um,” Matsuru paused, his face twisted as he looked for the word he wanted, “…ke…kagune! Did you see it?” To Nao he looked like an excited child. A boy waiting for the next chapter in a tale he’d never heard.

  
“Kagune?” Nao repeated dumbly. She vaguely recalled hearing the word on-and-off the last few years, though she could not recall with clarity what he was talking about. Claws? Kagune? Yamori’s hands looked all-together normal; his nails short and blunt, his fingers and palms calloused. But if a ghoul was a predator and it needed something to slice at prey, then what would it use?

  
 _Teeth. Abnormal strength,_ she guessed, before it dawned on her, _Oh. Was it that…?_

  
“You don’t know anything about ghouls, do you,” Matsuru snickered, hiding his smile behind his hand as he started to mock her, “Just like with the Wards.”

Nao frowned at him. “Not a lot of things about ghouls are pubic,” she said.

“But even that’s pretty “public” you know.” Nao stayed silent, knowing—however much it irritated her—that he was right. Her only defense was a willful ignorance due to her own traumatic event. Or was it because it was traumatic that she should have known more about them? Who’s to say which was right. Especially since knowing more about ghouls wouldn’t have helped prevent her situation. _Though if I knew more about him, I wouldn’t have moved so close to the Thirteenth._ And then it dawned on her. The Thirteenth? If he was the boogeyman of the Thirteenth, then why did she run into him in the Third?

  
“You’re making this up, aren’t you?”

  
 _Excuse me?_ Her prior line of thinking interrupted and forgotten, Nao narrowed her eyes at the smile on Matsuru’s face and firmly said, “I’m not.”

  
“Yes, you are,” he insisted, “Every ghoul-attack survivor says they say their kagune.”

  
“Well I didn’t,” Nao told him, her anger rising the more he denied the reality of what happened to her. “It’s not like he needed it anyway; not to do this,” she said as she raised left her hand impulsively, her palm facing herself as she showed him the torn and sewn flesh tracking down the back and beneath the cuff of her coat; the miniscule indentations that remained from where his teeth had dug in. As well as the absence of a finger. To make that statement just meant he’d been reading first-hand accounts—and he probably must have seen pictures posted online. But to view tragedy on a screen was so much different than seeing it in the flesh. And despite how often he’d seen her—at the office, in his bed (naked as the day she was born)—he still flinched and diverted his eyes. A grimace thinly masked on his face as he leaned away from her splayed, mutilated hand and arm.

  
That simple, reflexive movement hurt worse than his voluntary whoring.

  
“…Good night, Matsuru-san.” Nao stood up from her seat, leaving her half-finished ramen and beer as she tried to keep her composure. To keep herself from shedding any tears or slapping him.

  
“Kohana-chan?”

  
“Put it on his bill,” she told the stall owner, not even looking at Matsuru as he stood with her and tried to grab her attention. Nao only reacted to him when he grabbed her right elbow and attempted to keep her from walking away. Pulling her arm free, Nao settled a nasty glare on him and snarled, “Do _not_ touch me. _Ever._ ” He—along with the few people who had gathered under the stall’s temporary roof—stared at her as she gathered her coat around herself. She didn’t spare any of them a second glance as she left the warmth of several outdoor space heaters. The cool air bit at her lungs the moment she did, sapping whatever heat she had collected the last hour. Her hands clenched around the pocket-warmer packets in her coat.

  
Why couldn’t they just have a nice night out, she wondered as she walked. Why couldn’t they just talk about nothing without it going anywhere intimate? _Why does he have to be such an asshole?_ she asked herself. There were many things that were going to be certain about the new year, and while much of it wasn’t pleasant—bordering on awful—being done with Matsuru would be one of the few highlights.

  
And yet her night was ruined on the last day of the year; luck-wise it didn’t bode well for her. _Not to mention I still need to meet Kazuo tonight,_ she thought bitterly, looking at the time on her cell as she picked up the pace towards the meeting spot. _Will this fucking year never end—!_

  
“Ow?!” she cried in alarm, her body momentarily off balance as she ran into someone walking the opposite way, her cell fell from her hands to the ground with a crack. The man reached out to grab her arms, helping to steady her as Nao looked up at him, an apology perched on her tongue. Or at least it had been had the person before her not been a familiar face. “…Nishikawa-san?”

“Nezumicchi-chan! What a surprise.” He smiled, his grin wide and toothy and excited. Nao stared up at him for a moment before her eyes fell to the hands still clutching her upper biceps.

  
“Yes, um…it is a surprise,” she floundered, at a loss for what to say as Nishikawa realized he was still grabbing her. He yanked his arms back in exaggerated—if seemingly reluctant—movements, tucking them tight against his sides as he continued to smile down at her. Something flickered across his face, disrupting his expression as though he smelled something rotten in the slight breeze that past them by. The look disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Nao let out a small, nervous laugh as she bent down to retrieve her phone. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t usually run into…clients outside of work. I’m sorry for bumping into you.” The screen had cracked, two small lines running from one corner to the other, running straight through the time at the top. _Almost six-thirty?! Shit! I’m going to be late,_ she thought to herself, snapping the phone shut gently and pocketing it in her coat. 

  
Nao looked back up at Nishikawa’s black eyes, inwardly wincing at the adoring look she found in them. _Was he always like this?_ she wondered. Maybe he had been, and she’d just been too blind to see it in the dimness of the hostess bar, amid the revelry and the fake affection. When she’d gotten lost in her thoughts as he’d stammered through the simple act of just talking to her. “It’s no problem; I’m just glad to see you,” he said. Nao’s brows furrowed as unease continued to sink through her like a stone.

  
Nao moved to walk past him, a small, unsure smile on her face. “I um…I have to get going—” He sidestepped to block her, his hand on her arm again. Worry was etched into his face as he looked over every centimeter of her.

  
“You look upset, did something happen?” he asked, a worried frown taking place of his smile. Nao found it worrisome that she preferred the dotting frown to the adoring smile. She wondered if she even found peace in smiles anymore given how many she’d received with ill-intentions.

  
Her own face hurt from the tight smile she was giving him. “I’ve been better,” she said honestly, “but like I’ve said before, I can’t stay. I’m late to meet someone.” She tried to creep around him again but was held steadfast. A stricken look had taken over his face.

  
“’Meet someone?’ Nishikawa asked, “Like…like a boyfriend?” His hand tightened around her arm. If he hadn’t already, Nao would say he was beginning to scare her.

  
Maybe it was the fear slipping through her that made her say, unthinkingly, “I’m not dating.” Whatever had caused her to say it had sent a cross between relief and hope through him, and she wasn’t sure whether to be glad of it for the softening of his grasp or pity it. Regardless she continued, too hurried for time to think over the connotations of her words. “I have to go; I’ll see you next time you come in.”

  
He let her go this time, a smaller, pleased smile on his face. “Yeah. I’ll see you.” He watched her walk away. Nao didn’t dare look back, keeping her steps slow and even until she got to the end of the next block and started to sprint. Not simply because Kazuo would be mad that she was running late to meet him, or because of a possible penalty he might inflict on her just to be vindictive, but because for the first time since she’d met him Nao saw more than just innocent happiness in his smile. It was so much closer to the ones she was used to—filled with some hidden agenda she couldn’t see.

|13|

  
“Sheesh, you couldn’t have gotten larger bills?” Kazuo complained as he rifled through the wad making up that month’s payment, “I gotta count this shit, ya know?” Nao nodded absently, glancing away from him as she surveyed the bar out of bored curiosity. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just shut up and count like the dragon-tattooed yakuza she’d met with before.

  
“What the—is this a cat?!”

  
Nao looked back at him in time to see a child’s drawing marring the face of a five-thousand yen note. She bit the inside of her cheek to reign in the smile creeping to her lips but earned Kazuo’s ire regardless. “Ya got any other bills for this one?” he asked her, sneering down at the money before shifting his black eyes towards Nao.

  
She sneered back. “Are you kidding? I barely have enough money to scrape together for food.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t resist screwing with Kazuo for once. She bit her cheek harder as the image of him handing it to the boss went through her mind.

  
He tucked the bill back in the pile, taking a long drag off his cigarette as he muttered obscenities around it. Nao continued to wait as he finished counting. When he shoved the money back in the envelope, tucked it away in an inner pocket of his jacket, and reached for the shot glass the bartender had handed him, Nao said, “Same time next month, right?” She watched him tip his head back, the dark fluid disappearing in one fluid motion.

  
When the glass emptied, he tapped the bar for another, saying to her over his shoulder, “Not gonna stay for a drink?”

  
Nao shook her head, she still felt a bit off-kilter from the beer she’d drank earlier, and frankly didn’t trust herself to drink something harder. “I should get going before it gets too late,” she told him, looping her purse around her neck.

“It’s barely seven!” Kazuo protested, turning his attention away from her to address the bartender as the man placed another shot before him. “Another one—for the lady.”

  
“Seriously, I shouldn’t have a—”

  
“God yer dull. It’s New Years! What’s a better way to celebrate your last year of debt than to share a drink with your loan shark?” He might have been kidding, or he might have been serious. Either way, Nao didn’t care for it. But as the bartender placed a glass of dark fluid before her, Nao felt her argument slip away. What was one drink with him compared to the events of prior?

  
 _It could be just as bad,_ she thought realistically, sniffing the alcohol and taking a testing sip, grimacing at the taste of whiskey. She’d prefer a vodka tonic, maybe even white wine considering the occasion. She took another small sip.

  
“You gonna miss this?” Kazuo asked her.

  
“Miss giving up fifty-thousand yen every month? Miss being under the thumb of Yakuza?” Was that even a question? “Let’s just say I’m counting down the days.” The double meaning of her words hit her then, and suddenly, for a minute, she let that fear take over her. Her debt would be over, finished, paid, and rather than live the rest of her life in freedom, she’d have a handful of days before she was dismembered and torn apart. Nao’s hand shook around the glass; she tightened her grip.

  
“Can’t say the same,” Kazuo murmured, sliding his eyes over to her as Nao continued to stare unseeingly as the bar counter. His words were little more than whispers in her ear. “To be honest, I look forward to seeing you each month.” Nao’s brows scrunched at the sentiment. “You gonna miss me at all?” Nao looked over at him.

  
“No,” she said point blank. Kazuo grinned at that, it was as true an expression as she’d seen from him.

  
“Yeah. Can’t say I’ll miss you either,” he returned, lifting the whiskey up to his lips to take another drink. After a few deep gulps, he lowered the glass and said around the rim, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, indulge in our mutual dislike of each other.” Nao didn’t bother hiding the grimace on her face. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered—in a variety of clever wording and insinuations. “Would love to know what’s under the stiff clothing.”

  
“Keep wondering,” Nao growled lowly, narrowing her eyes at him.

The grin stayed as he threw back a second and third shot. “You’ll give in eventually,” he said, sliding off the bar stool, “Not like you’re a nun.” He drew out his wallet and slapped a few bills on the counter. Before he left he drew close to Nao, his hand on her shoulder while his body hunched tight around hers. “You’re gonna want something hard between those soft thighs of yours eventually. And I’ll be happy to help you out.” Great shivers of disgust wracked through her long after he left her sitting there; half because of the offer he’d given her, and half because of the bulge that had pressed into her back.

Nao wondered what she had done in a past life to deserve this kind of day, much less this kind of year. More so she wondered why the men in her life—however little impact they’d once made on her—had converged on her all at once. Was it just a domino-effect, starting from one and leading to another? Was there a higher power at play? And if so, did it find pleasure in making these men show her their true selves?

  
Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Yamori. Yakumo. She’d seen who he was from the start in that room of horror and misery when the only thing he had freedom to do was talk. He’d called her pathetic, had never hid his hatred or disgust from her, his pain. Looking at the dissimilarities between how he was then and how he is now was like trying to squint through murky water. She saw the shapes but couldn’t make out what they were; he was both the same as he was then, and harder, more jagged person.

  
 _He likes his secrets, but at the same time he hasn’t exactly lied to me,_ Nao mused to herself, forcing herself to let go of the whiskey glass. She shook out her stiff hand, flexing the creaks in the joints. Nao glanced at the clock hanging above the bar. Barely ten minutes had gone by since Kazuo had forced her to stay and drink with him. Yet while Nao felt thoroughly disillusioned with the evening, she couldn’t fathom going home so early just to end it. It spoke to the masochist in her, she guessed. “White wine, please,” Nao told the bartender, pushing the whiskey away. She could stand to kill another hour here, both alone and not alone with people who just saw a woman drinking by herself, and not a secretary, or a hostess, or a person in debt.

  
Nao looked down at her hand. _But do they see the victim of a ghoul?_ she wondered, her nerves spiking as the bartender came back with a wine glass making her hide her hand beneath the counter. She gave the man a tight smile as he took back the whiskey glass and left to tend to other customers. _They would, if I was more open about it and not a coward._ Nao took the glass in hand, watching tiny bubbles float to the surface as the wine settled in its new container. _And who’s fault is that?_ she thought bitterly, bringing the glass up for a taste. _And why hasn’t he shown up yet to continue this night’s theme?_

When she’d made that deal with him, Nao had expected Yamori to visit her more often than he had. Least of all she hadn’t expected him to keep his distance for two months. He lives in the Thirteenth, which wasn’t a great distance from the Third. He’d never alluded to a job he might have—though Nao doubted that if he did it was anything good or moral. _I can’t tell if he’s busy or just extremely patient,_ Nao mused with herself, taking another long drink. And another. And another. _If he’s busy, then I hope he stays busy forever. If he’s patient…I wish he’d show up._ Nao couldn’t tell if that wish was because of her own impatience, or because he’d always been honest with his intentions with her.

|13|

  
Nao woke up hours later to the dull pangs of a mild headache and the annoying ring of her cell phone. Squinting through the darkness at her alarm clock, Nao grabbed the blaring phone off the nightstand. _One-thirty in the morning…what the hell is she thinking?!_ Nao railed inside her mind as she rolled over onto her back. A pinch started in her side, causing Nao to arch her spine and slip off the work skirt still wrapped around her hips. She hadn’t bothered to take off her office clothes, opting instead to skip all pretenses and sleep off the horridness of her evening.

  
While she tangled with the sleeve of her blouse, Nao flipped open the cell and—flinching at the bright little screen—snarled, “ _Misa._ This better damn well be important.” Misa had the unfortunate habit of calling Nao at the oddest times, regardless of whether she was asleep or busy. More than once Nao had been reprimanded at the office just because her cellphone was ringing. Yet at the same time Misa had saved her from particularly chilling nightmares. It tended to even itself out, so Nao couldn’t find it in her to get mad at the woman. This was not one of those times—in more ways than one.

  
_“You never mentioned when you gave me your number if it had to be important.”_

  
Nao blinked up at the ceiling, her brain still cloudy with sleep. “Yamori…?” she murmured, her confusion falling quickly into contempt at the night that would never end. “God dammit,” she bit out in frustration as she slipped out of her blouse and threw it across the room.

  
 _“Disappointing night?”_ he asked curiously, though his tone held more amusement than Nao could handle at the moment.

  
“Just one of many,” she grumbled, tugging her blanket up over her body to keep out the chill clinging to her exposed skin. Nao grimaced as a dull pain started behind her eyes. She rubbed at one with the back of her hand. “And you?” she asked him, “How was your night?”

  
_“I made a friend.”_

  
She could hardly keep the surprise out of her voice. “You have friends?” It earned her a moment of silence before she reiterated. “What are they like?” she asked him instead. 

  
_“We share common interests,”_ he replied. Nao sighed, sinking deeper into her pillow.

  
“Sounds frightening,” she said, closing her eyes against the darkness of her room, “Should I expect a visit from him soon, too?”

  
Soft laughter hit her ear, a ripple of shivers running through her at the sound. _“I have someone else in mind for you to meet.”_ Nao opened her eyes at that, suspicious.

  
“And what kind of person are they?”

  
 _“Different from the ones you know,”_ Yamori told her.

  
Nao scoffed as she rolled onto her side, curling herself into a ball beneath the warmth of her blanket. “And how would you know the type of men I know?”

  
Instead of answering her, Yamori said, _“Tell me why your night was so disappointing.”_

  
This time Nao stayed silent. He wasn’t her friend; she didn’t have to tell him anything—least of all why her night was so lousy. Yet still she found herself opening her mouth, hesitating a bare second before saying, “…The man I’ve been sleeping with is disgusted with something I have no control over. The guy I’ve been entertaining at work is smitten and a little obsessed.” She paused in-between, her muscles tensing as a phantom object pressed into her spine. “And the man I owe money to pressed his erection against my back,” she finished, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. “Seeing you and having you take a bite out of me would have been the least of my worries,” she told him honestly. Stupidly.

  
Yamori was quiet for a long moment. So silent that Nao could hear his breath hitting the receiver. _“…Maybe I should come over then,”_ he finally spoke. He said it so plainly, Nao could hardly discern whether it was a thing he was going to do or a legitimate offer. 

  
The latter surprised her. What she thought about it was even more so. _Maybe you should,_ she’d thought to him before she squelched the words and said instead, “No…it’s late, and I just want to sleep.”

  
 _“Do you want me to hang up?”_ Nao paused, pursing her lips as she thought about it. She doubted he would if she wanted him to, but she didn’t. For some reason she wanted to keep talking to him. To keep hearing his roughened voice in her ear as she lay curled in her bed. Safe from his abuse and separated by any number of space. Her hesitation was enough of an answer, and one he took as he said, _“Or would you rather keep talking.”_

  
Nao worried her bottom lip, thinking about the things she wanted to ask him, to talk to him about. About what she’d heard from Matsuru, and what she’d learned online. “…There are things I want to ask you, but they’re better asked in person,” she finally said after a moment. Nao thought of the long, splintered thing she’d seen; of the unnaturalness of it as it swished like a cat’s tail behind the massive ghoul.

  
 _“Then I’ll see you soon,”_ Yamori told her, _“Goodnight, Nao-chan.”_

  
Nao closed her eyes against the pleasantries, sleep creeping over her slowly as she stifled a yawn. “Goodnight, Yakumo-san,” she replied in turn, uncaring of the fact that she’d said the wrong name. Unknowing of the slight pause before she heard the click and the subsequent dial tone. It didn’t worry her that she’d just made plans to meet with Yamori, or the possibility that she’d have an up-close and personal view of a ghoul’s “claws”. It didn’t even occur to her that she’d never asked why he’d called, or that he’d sounded so…personable. Nao only vaguely recalled putting her phone back on the nightstand and drifting back into a dreamless sleep. Feeling comforted by a short talk about nothing.


	14. Strange

“Is it an apology you want? I know it mustn’t have been easy to talk about your attack—”

  
“And have you completely belittle it?” Nao cut in, her eyes cutting away from a fixed point ahead of her to glare at Matsuru. He’d been walking with her— _following_ her—since the day had ended and she’d left the office. Prior to now her only aim and goal for the day was to get through the day in relative ease. Now it was to ditch Matsuru at her earliest convenience. He knew where she lived, but for his own reasons he’d never set foot inside. Not that Nao complained since it meant her own sheets stayed clean and usable. “No, it wasn’t “easy”. Nor was it pleasant.”

  
“It was never my intention for you to feel this way,” Matsuru went on. For the last several days—ever since the weekend ended and she had to go back to work actually—he’d been haranguing her at every turn. So much so that Nao had begun to wonder if his work was so unimportant that he had a large amount of free time, or if it was so simple he could push it off until later. She found it hard to guess which one. “Would you please forgive me?” While his constant presence spoke to desperation, his overall appearance remained much the same—bordering on unaffected. Brown hair combed to the side, collared shirt neatly pressed, not a single thread out of place or a piece of lint marring the deep blue of his suit jacket. She wasn’t his wife or his girlfriend, so she didn’t expect to see some dishevelment of his appearance. But at the same time, she wished there was the smallest wrinkle in his brow that betrayed his concernment rather than the business-like façade he’d taken on.

  
Her forgiveness wasn’t a tough negotiation deal he needed to land. Though what more could she expect from him? And yet the bastard had neglected to even say “sorry”. Instead he came up with roundabout ways to explain away his wrongdoings. It was as entertaining as it was pathetic. Nao was halfway tempted to ask him to say it again on his knees. _Halfway_ tempted. The other half was focused on curbing the urge to run across the street and either lose him in the traffic or risk getting hit by a car. In all honesty she’d rather get hit by a car than run away from him like a coward.

  
Instead Nao stayed silent—a task hard to accomplish as Matsuru got irritated by _her_ childish antics and started in on a tirade about how “immature” it was to give someone the cold shoulder. Nao did not receive relief until her apartment building came into view and she knew she’d have the satisfaction of shutting the door in Matsuru’s face. Greater still was her alarming amount of elation when Matsuru pointed out a figure sitting against the outdoor railing of the third-floor walkway. A figure Nao was glad to use to her full advantage.

  
“ _Shit!_ ” Nao hissed under her breath, widening her eyes and adopting the fear that she’d gotten used to wearing like a second skin. “No, no, no! Why is he here?” she bemoaned to herself, just loud enough to let Matsuru hear her, but soft enough to make it clear she was talking to herself (or so it would sound).

  
“Is he not supposed to be?” Matsuru asked her, quirking an eyebrow at her theatrics as he looked back at the large man dressed in white. “Who is he anyway?”

  
Nao ignored the question, playing up the part of “panicking female in distress”. “What day is it?!” she asked him, knitting her brows together as she grabbed at his arm, his coat clutched between white-knuckled fingers.

  
“It—It’s Wednesday,” he said, his face tightening in concern, “Wednesday the fifth.”

  
“No, no, no! He’s supposed to come next Friday!” Nao cried turning her face away from Matsuru to gape in well-timed horror as Yamori happened to glance down at them. “Why is he here so early?!”

  
“Who is he?!” Matsuru practically yelled in exasperation.

  
“He’s…” Nao paused to swallow a nonexistent lump in her throat, “he’s my _loan shark_ ,” she finished. The effect, no matter how dramatic or hammed up, worked as Matsuru’s face fell and instant realization of why she was so afraid hit him.

  
“Oh God, _that_ guy?” he asked, eyes wide in shock. “What the hell is he doing showing up here?” Nao wondered briefly if by “here” he meant the residential area in the business sector of the Third Ward, and if Matsuru thought Yakuza dealings happened in sketchy bars and back alleys. No. They could happen just about anywhere, from nice restaurants made to draw you in with false hope for your failing business to her mother’s small kitchen.

  
“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. In truth Nao had been expecting to see him for the past several days ever since he’d called her. Of course, the only reason she wanted to see him was to have her questions answered. Not for anything else. “I—I have to go,” Nao hastened to say when Yamori pushed off the banister and started to head for the stairs, hoping to intercept him before her lie was exposed.

  
“Wait, what?”

  
“I have to—I need to see what he—”

  
Matsuru grabbed her arm, pulling her back the moment she made to run for the bottom of the stairs. Revulsion ran through her like a hot wave before she tamped it down to look back at him with surprise. “I’m not letting you go anywhere near that freak,” he explained, his voice stern even as Nao shook off his hand. 

  
_What right does he have to tell me what to do?_ Nao asked herself. She looked over her shoulder at her building, real panic seizing her when she saw Yamori reach the second-floor. “He’s not—I just need to— _Bye!_ ” she yelled behind her as she bolted away. Behind her she heard Matsuru yell out her name, but she ignored him and ran quicker up the stairs. To her relief and irritation Yamori had paused at the bend in the staircase, one corner of his mouth bent up in a smirk as he watched her theatrics.

  
“Not a word,” she growled lowly as she edged past his bulk, “just tell me if he does something stupid.”

  
“So, I’m your loan shark now?” he asked her casually. Nao didn’t answer. When she got to the third floor landing she snuck a glance down at the ground. Matsuru was still standing where she’d left him, fidgeting in place like he was debating whether or not to interfere. Contrary to what she’d done, Nao didn’t want any drama—rather any _new_ drama. Her life was interesting enough with a ghoul, the yakuza, and the life-threatening deal she’d made. The last thing she needed was the man making her situation more unbearable.

  
“You can’t stay long,” she told Yamori instead as she unlocked her door, “I have to go to work in an hour.” She slipped out of her shoes, leaving the door open as she walked further inside; stripping off her coat and purse as she went. She needed to change out of her office clothes and grab something to eat. As it was she’d dawdled enough with Matsuru and needn’t mince words with Yamori.

  
“Then should I leave now?” he asked her. 

  
She heard him shut the door but did not hear any footsteps. Busy as she needed to be, Nao stopped to look back at him, raising an eyebrow at his unnaturally polite offer. His body—massive as his frame was—blocked the door while he stood with his hands tucked into his pockets. While Nao knew she should find the image off-putting—her only means of escape cut off should he choose to attack her then and there—she did not feel threatened. “No,” she replied instead, “I need you to keep my ruse going.” She walked into her bedroom then and shut the door, dabbling with the lock for a mere half-second before she let it go. 

  
While Nao undressed, pinching the buttons of her blouse free and wriggling out of her skirt, Yamori spoke through the door. “And what to I get in exchange?” he asked. Nao tossed the clothes into the hamper, biting the inside of her cheek despite herself. The stipend to their arrangement—when was the last time she’d paid it? Had it really been a month since he’d bitten her?

  
She ran a hand over the faint circular indentation stretching along the space between her neck and shoulder. “…The same price you took last time,” Nao replied, dragging from her closet a short blue dress borrowed from the hostess bar. Her legs would freeze during the short walk to the bar, but at least they’d look great, she mused as she removed the hanger and stepped into it, shimmying it up her body.

  
Nao looked at herself in the small bathroom mirror, running a hand over herself to smooth out the fabric. She smiled. Her hips had rounded out a bit, and her face had lost some of the sharp edges she had unwittingly acquired. Her breasts were still small, but there was no helping that. _Not that it stops the men at the hostess bar from staring anyway,_ Nao thought to herself as she grabbed her make-up bag. As she touched up her mascara and reapplied her lipstick, the door to her bedroom opened. In the mirror she saw Yamori step into the reflection, leaning his shoulder against the door frame.

  
Nao stared for a moment, the tube of lipstick still stuck between her fingertips. She watched his reflected eyes drag away from hers, tracking over the curve of her spine and backside. She felt her face tighten as he lingered on her stockinged legs. 

  
“I don’t think my customers would like scars there,” Nao told him, earning an upward quirk of his lip. She pressed her lips into a flat line to even out the lipstick, setting the tube aside.

  
“And how do they like the bite I took from you?” Yamori asked. Nao quirked a brow at that, curious until he brought up her gloves for her to see. Face turning red—whether from anger or embarrassment she didn’t bother to differentiate—Nao spun around and tried to snatch them from his grasp. The satin slipped through her fingers as Yamori took her wrist and held it up between them, a small smile on his face. “For someone so prideful, you’re really just afraid,” he dropped the gloves to the floor, taking her chin in his hand as he swept his thumb along her bottom lip, smearing the makeup, “and vain.”

  
Gnashing her teeth against a snarl, Nao narrowed her eyes at him as she shook his hand off. “If I had any pride I wouldn’t have become a janitor; cleaning up more piss and blood than I care to remember.” She yanked her right hand, her wrist still strongly held within his grasp. “As for me being vain, ugly girls don’t get asked for at the bar.”

  
She wasn’t sure what she’d said, but the second her words hit the air his demeanor changed. Sharpened like he was suddenly aware of why she was dressed the way she was. “How many customers do you get there a night?” he suddenly asked her.

  
Nao winced as his grip tightened around her wrist, though this time when she yanked it away from him, he let go. “Why do you want to know?” she asked absently, more focused on rubbing away the lingering dull ache than to the question he posed her. A mistake as her chin was roughly grabbed and forced up. Her eyes widened in surprise as black flooded his sclera and red veins forked out from the edges of his eyes. She was curious if this was a natural bodily reaction or something he did on purpose to intimidate her.

  
For the most part it seemed to be the latter as Yamori frowned down at her. His words as rough as his appearance as he said, “Because your life and body belong to me and not to anyone else.”

  
“Not for six hours a night they don’t.” It was an impulsive thing to say, so quick in response to his words that she didn’t have the time to slap a hand over her mouth. Though in the brief lull between her words and his reaction, this instinctive need to take them back was quickly overshadowed by the pleasure she felt in his resulting glare and dissatisfied expression.

  
This pride she felt ebbed back, though did not disappear as he let go of her chin to palm the back of her head. His fingers pulling at the roots as he nearly growled, “Then keep in mind that the last man you’ll see is me—” he pulled her back by her hair until her body was bowed backwards over the sink. Nao reached a quick hand up, digging her fingers into the spaces between his in an attempt to ease the sharp pain spiderwebbing from his grasp. Nao’s breath caught in her throat as Yamori bent over her; she hadn’t noticed when she’d brushed past him outside—the feint aroma of sweat and blood. Feinter still was the underlying scent. Her nose practically buried in something sickeningly sweet as he pressed his cheek to hers and murmured low in her ear—shivers trailing along her skin, “—your blood on my tongue as I rip out your throat.” 

  
_Slowly decaying meat,_ her brain supplied.

  
 _From_ humans, her mind remembered. Nao felt her stomach turn as invasive memories bombarded her. Darkness clouding the edges of her vision to mimic the horrific room from her nightmares. Nao closed her eyes against the images, swallowing down the nauseating smell as she focused on what he was saying. Trying to figure out a way to backtrack the conversation even as a resounding _snap_ ricocheted off her bathroom walls. 

  
“…I don’t know how many guys I get a night. I score pretty low on the weekly rankings compared to everyone else,” she admitted, honestly, “All I really do is serve drinks there.”

  
Yamori narrowed his eyes at her, the black fading as his irises lost their unnatural glow. He let go of her hair then, backing up a bit to allow her to straighten. Nao’s brows knit in confusion at him before she turned in the meager space he provided her to look at herself in the mirror. He’d smeared the pale pink gloss on her lip halfway down her chin, her hair worse off as it stuck out in odd angles. Nao turned on the faucet, wetting her fingers to rub away the skewed lipstick. Glancing up at him in the mirror, Nao said, “He’s probably gone now. You can go.”

  
“Who is he?” Yamori asked her, ignoring her insistence that he leave.

  
She glared at his reflection. “He’s none of your business.”

  
“Loverboy, huh?” He smirked. Nao looked away, combing her fingers through her hair as she admitted,

  
“Loverboy no longer.”

  
“And why’s that I wonder?” The idle curiosity in his tone sparked Nao’s anger, making her glare at him over her shoulder.

  
“It’s because of _you_ ,” she seethed, her teeth grinding as she turned back to her reflection. Nao tried to force her eyes to stay on her face but couldn’t stop them as they dipped down to her mutilated arm. Her voice still pressured and angry, she said, “This thing you did to me isn’t exactly nice to look at.” She lifted it up in front of herself, eyeing every line of scar tissue, sneering at the edge of the skin graft. Running a thumb over the sensitive outline of her bones, Nao said, in a tone so much softer than before, “It’s hideous.”

  
Yamori stayed suspiciously silent as Nao bit her lip and tried to reign in her emotions. To be honest she’d been expecting him to sneer at her and retort something cruel. How she should be lucky he didn’t take more, or how Matsuru was still able to fuck her regardless. Though when she thought about it, she remembered the care Matsuru took in not even so much as _grazing_ her arm as he thrust into her. Shying away any time her left hand even came close to touching him.

  
How starved for affection was she to ignore it? 

  
Huffing out a sigh, Nao let her arm drop back to her side. She didn’t bother to lift her head from where it had bent, her eyes stuck on the drain in the sink as she asked him, “Why did you take so little?” She wanted to divert her thoughts from Matsuru and from her own insecurities. Shame crawled hot up her neck.

  
“Is that what you wanted to ask me?” Yamori asked her.

  
“No…yes.” She raised her head a fraction to look at him in the mirror. He stood close to her, so close she could feel his body heat against her back. He didn’t look at her with contempt, amusement, or bland curiosity as though she were something to pass the time with. There was a focused sort of sharpness to his eyes, and it bothered her the longer he pinned her down with that look. “You must have been starving all those days you spent locked up,” Nao said, ignoring the shiver along her spine and the unease pooling in her gut as she turned to face him. Clenching her fists against her sides, and raising her face a little higher, she asked, “Why didn’t you just…kill us and eat more?”

  
“I already told you why I didn’t,” Yamori answered her. After a beat, the slight grimace on his face melted into a small smile as he touched her chin with his fingertips. “But...” Nao flinched at the light touch but let him tilt her head up. “How could I kill the woman who tried to ease my suffering in that hell?”

  
Nao didn’t speak—or rather, she had nothing to say. All she could do was stare at him slack-jawed; thoroughly caught off gaurd. Was he lying? Was it the truth? As Yamori’s smile widened at her confusion, she narrowed her eyes. The bastard was messing with her.

  
She shook off his hand to his growing amusement; a remark set on the tip of her tongue that went unused as Yamori turned away and left. Surprise clouded her for a moment, and she stood disbelieving until she heard her front door click shut. Tension threaded through her as she debated whether to follow him or let him go. The former won as she sprinted out of her bathroom.

  
“ _Hey!_ ” she shouted, halfway hiding behind her front door. He hadn’t gone too far—barely was he at the stairwell before he turned back to glance at her. Nao ignored the slight satisfaction on his face—subsequently ignoring her own growing irritation—as she asked, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  
Later she would kick herself for running after him, for reminding him of the unpleasant stipend to their agreement. Later, she would comfort herself with the knowledge that she was sticking to what she had agreed to—no matter how painful it was for her—and that there was honor to be had in that. Later, she would think back to the pink tongue he had used to wet his upper lip and the red, red eyes that had run down her body, and shiver as she remembered what Yamori said. “I’ll take what’s owed next time,” he’d said. To her it sounded like she’d be suffering more than just a single bite. And ‘next time’? When would that be she wondered.

  
|13|

  
Nao leaned her head back to rest against her locker, her arms awkwardly folded across her growling stomach as she listened to fabric rustle and idle chatter as the women around her dressed in flamboyant reds and glittering gold. Yamori’s impromptu visit—as short as it was—had left her with little time to cook (much less microwave) something to eat. As a result, her attention was split between the latest date Misa had and plans to run to a nearby conbini during her break.

  
Mostly she was just trying to forget the gentle touch Yamori had given her. Nao couldn’t think of a single moment when Yamori hadn’t been rough with her. To be honest, up until that point she wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to his personality or his obvious overwhelming strength. Paired with that comment he was starting to throw her for a loop. How much of what he said was the truth, and how much was a lie?

  
Nao cut off Misa as the woman was explaining in explicit detail the size and shape of her date’s penis, and asked, “How do you know when someone’s lying to you?”

  
“I’m not lying!” Misa said, her hands animated as they mimed her words, “I _swear_. If Australia’s missin’ a boomerang, it’s down that guy’s pants.”

  
“No, not that,” Nao waved it off, grimacing at the mental image and the weird thoughts that went with it. “Someone said something to me recently…I don’t know if he was telling me the truth,” she said.

  
Misa stared at her for a brief moment before her red lips spread across her face and an excited gleam entered her eye. “Did you meet a _guy?!_ ” she exclaimed, squirming where she sat on the bench.

  
“No, he’s…he’s just an acquaintance,” Nao rushed to say before Misa cut her off.

  
“Oh, honey, that’s how they all start out ‘til you get to know them,” she said before her smile dripped into a frown. “Wait, it’s not the office slut, is it?”

  
Nao didn’t bother to hide the sneer that crawled across her face. “No, I don’t need advice to know when _he’s_ lying.”

  
“So, what did this new guy say?” Misa asked, looking away from her to tug up her pantyhose.

  
“It…it’s stupid,” Nao faltered. There wasn’t any good way to tell Misa what Yamori had said without either letting something slip or giving her the wrong idea, so she went with the latter. “Embarrassing—look, just…how do you know when a guy lies?” 

  
“Usually when people lie they have a tell,” Misa answered as she slipped on a pair of baby-pink kitten heels. Nao herself dreaded stepping back into her black pumps and was waiting until the very last second.

  
Shifting her weight from one free foot to the other, she murmured, “A tell?”

  
Misa looked up at her from beneath long eyelashes. “Did you notice anything different when he said whatever it was?” she asked.

  
Nao’s brows scrunched together as she thought back, trying to think of something that had felt _off_ with the large ghoul. “…I…I think…maybe?” she answered lamely, pursing her lips in consternation. All she could manage to remember was that gentle touch on her chin, and the smell of blood wafting off his person. Sickening and confusing all at once.

  
“Think on it,” Misa told her, “Some people have small tells you barely see.”

  
Before Nao could get another word out, the door to the hostess’ dressing room cracked open and the manager’s warning flowed through. “ _Ladies! Five minutes!_ ”

  
The eleven people around her—including herself and Misa—shouted back their affirmation before they got back to their finishing touches. Nao ran a hand through her short hair, glad that she didn’t have to do much with it. And then an absent thought entered her mind. “Hey, Misa, what’s my tell?”

  
“Hard to say,” she started, alternating between pouting her lips in the mirror and talking, “You’re nervous like…seventy-five percent of the time now, so I can’t tell anymore.” 

  
Nao frowned at that but said nothing. If she thought back to when she was fifteen, she found her memory lacking. The family store had been in decline, but neither her mother or father had been worried, so Nao hadn’t been worried either. It was like all her inner anxiety had lived inside a heavily guarded bubble. And when the store had failed, and the debts kept racking up, the protective enamel had worn away until her father’s suicide had popped it and let it free. The blissful ignorance of her childhood was gone. And even with her debt settled, and her life free of the hands of Yakuza strings, she was still entangled in a ghoul’s net.

  
She snapped back to attention as the women around her started to leave the dressing room one-by-one. Masking a wince, she stepped into her heels, listening absently as Misa circled back to her earlier train of thought.

  
“Are you going to see boomerang guy again?” Nao asked her, walking out of the room together and into the slowly awakening hostess bar.

  
“ _No!_ ” she exclaimed, her face a fake mask of horror and very real disappointment, “He’s got a weapon, but he’s too quick on the trigger.” Nao snorted, unable to reign in her laughter as Misa joined in. “Looks like I got a customer waiting, so I’ll talk to you later, Na-chan,” Misa said before she turned away and sauntered over to her usual corner booth, the businessman occupying it following each sway of her hips. Nao waved at her receding back, mumbling an unheard ‘later’. She looked first to the entryway, then glanced at her empty two-seater, before she walked over to the bar. Behind it, Minatsuki was hard at work polishing stemware and loading gleaming silver trays. 

  
Unlike the women employed at the bar, she worked solely as their barista—dispensing drinks and bottles before they’d been ordered (as though she knew what each man drank and remembered each regular’s usual) with barely a smile and only a few curt words exchanged to anyone. The few things Nao knew about her was her secrecy, severity, and paranoia. Of the few things Nao liked about her was the wacky colors she dyed her hair. This week she’d chosen to dye her brown hair a shocking orange.

  
Nao glanced away from it, fighting a small smile as she took the tray from Minatsuki. Before she had the chance to deposit the glasses, Minatsuki held up a finger before ducking behind the counter. “These go to Risa-san,” she said a moment later as she popped back up and placed the bottle on the tray, along with a single wine glass and a silver corkscrew. Minatsuki went back to her job soon after; Nao stayed where she stood, staring at the bottle.

  
The woman must have noticed her out of the corner of her eye, for without glancing away from the brandy she was pouring she asked, curtly, “What?”

  
“Are these bottles rare or expensive or something?” Nao asked her, raising her eyes from the wine to look at Minatsuki.

  
Minatsuki narrowed her eyes at her, her thin brows drawing down sharply as she replied, “You ask too many questions.”

  
Nao could not repress the upward quirk at the corner of her lip as she said in turn, “I’ve found recently that I don’t ask enough.”

  
Minatsuki went silent at that, scrutinizing her for a long moment before she looked away. “…give that here,” she said quietly, her voice less harsh than it was a moment ago. Nao arched a brow at the command, unmoving until Minatsuki nodded towards the entryway, shaking loose a bright orange lock of hair. “You’ve got a customer,” she reiterated, tucking the strands behind her ear simultaneously as she gently took the try out of Nao’s hands and set it on the bar.

  
Nao looked over at the door to where the floor manager was gesturing for her beside her first customer of the night. Barely did she hide her frown before she twitched it up into a delighted smile. While this fake display fooled Nishikawa, the woman beside her saw through it easily.

  
“You don’t look too happy,” Minatsuki remarked dryly, her face deadpan as she watched Nishikawa nearly trip over himself as he was led to Nao’s couch. Nishikawa could barely tear his eyes from Nao, even as she gestured for one more minute. Her smile slid easily from her face as though it had been dipped in grease the second she turned her back on him.

  
“How bad is it if you run into your regular outside work?” Nao asked the barista, her tone conspiratorial.

  
Minatsuki frowned at her. Her perpetually flat affect breaking as a shard of concern broke through. “Rare. But it does happen sometimes,” she told Nao honestly. When Nao did not look relieved by her answer, Minatsuki asked, “Should I get the manager?”

  
Nao stayed silent for few seconds, debating whether to get the manager involved. “It’s fine,” she told her, “Like you said, it happens.” She cast her a reassuring smile before she turned away, though Nao could feel the woman’s eyes on her back as she sat down beside Nishikawa.

  
Ignoring the heat upon her back Nao greeted Nishikawa, lapsing quickly into their usual routine. He talked, Nao listened, earning his rapt attention when she cut in with a laugh, or a comment, or a compliment of her own.

  
Before his time had even hit its halfway mark, Nishikawa suddenly dimmed before her. Sagging into himself as an unusual gloom overcame him where before he was all energy.

  
“Is something wrong, Nishikawa-san?” Nao asked, arching a brow at him. His sudden silence was discomforting.

  
“I have s-something to t-t-tell you,” Nishikawa stuttered, his hands bunching up around the fabric of his pantlegs. Nao said nothing, unsure whether to act her usually bubbly self around him when he seemed so anxious. “I w—was…I was worried about you…that n-night I saw you,” he told her. Almost instantly Nao felt a pit open in her stomach as she was reminded of his…appearance on New Year’s. He didn’t seem to notice her unease as he continued. “So, I f-f-followed you, and…I saw you give m-money to that man. He-He’s a—you owe money to him, r-right?” He looked to her for confirmation, but while Nao still wore a polite smile on her face, her stomach had tied itself into knot. Her body felt as if it had been doused with cold water—far too alert and conscientious of her surroundings and the person seated beside her to be considered normal.

  
Despite what he wanted to hear, Nao could only manage a weak, hesitant, “You followed me…?”

  
Shock colored his features quickly as his black eyes widened for fear of frightening her—something he was too late to fix. “I-I was really concerned about you!” he rushed to explain, loosening his hands from his pant legs as he splayed them out in front of him. “It-It was late, an-and you were walking by yourself. To a—to a _loan shark_ nuh-no less!”

  
“I…I—"

  
Revulsion hit Nao hard as her hands were captured in between Nishikawa’s—his palms sweaty through the layer of satin separating her skin from his. A grimace on her face while a reassuring smile lit upon his. “Nezumicchi! It’s okay,” he began, ignorant of the slight tremor between his hands, “I don’t have much money, but…but I can find you something.” Nao glanced away from him towards the manager by the door, trying to catch the man’s eye. This proved to be a mistake as Nishikawa held her hands tighter and pulled her closer to him, forcing her to look back at the clear desperation in his eyes. “ _Anything_ you need to get away from that man! Even a pound of flesh!”

  
“ _…what…?_ ”

  
As quickly as he had gone from his usual shy, stuttering self to _this_ , nothing could have prepared Nao for the freeze that had taken over his body. Nao stared at him, wide-eyes and confused about these sudden shifts happening before her. Nishikawa was slow to break out of his statuesque posture, thawing bit by bit as he leaned in closer to her, and slowly inhaled.

  
Nishikawa rocketed back as though he had been punched, dropping her hands as quickly as he’d grabbed them. “I—I…I have to go,” he said, turning his gaze away from her as he looked around the bar; shifting his eyes quickly from one corner to another, his eyes shifting between people so quickly Nao could hardly be sure who he’d been looking at. His hands were tightening on his pants again.

  
Despite the fear creeping through her body, Nao still found herself asking, “Nishikawa?”

  
He stood abruptly, barely gracing her with a glance as he murmured, “…I’ll see you soon.” He didn’t wait for her reply as he rounded the loveseat and made short work of the distance between her and the door. She replied—despite him not being there to hear—with her usual, yet hollowed, goodbye. 

  
“I’m looking forward to it,” she’d nearly whispered when internally she’d rather he didn’t. 

  
Nao didn't know what to make of those few minutes before he'd left. Only one other time had he reacted so strongly, and it had been after she'd spent a long hour in the cloud of Matsuru's cloying cologne. Had something else assaulted his senses? Frankly, she didn't know what to make of it—much less of him, or the day—overall. People had started to act so strangely lately.


	15. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: hmm...let's say...light assault?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting is not good for the eyes T_T but I've procrastinated enough! After ch. 21 I'll be up to date!  
> As for ch. 22...writer's block is making my heart sick, but your reviews and kudos are like chicken soup!

It wasn’t often that Nao lingered after work—even more so considering how close it was to one-in-the-morning. There were only two reasons she would ever be held back from collapsing onto her bed and drifting off into a dreamless sleep. The first was when the manager’s staff meeting ran long, and the second had to do with a certain ghoul. Neither of these were the reasons Nao was prevented from going home.

  
“I’m doing it,” Misa was saying, her voice low while around them lockers slammed shut and women stifled yawns. 

  
Nao looked at her sideways as she kicked off a pair of sling backs and slid her aching feet into her sneakers. Smirking even as Misa’s sharp brows angled down in what Nao could only discern as “serious”. All-in-all, if Misa had pulled that face with a customer they’d assume she was acting cute. Nao had no such luck as Misa grasped her arm above her left elbow and motioned for her to lean in closer.

  
The dressing room was slowly dwindling of its usual occupants, a few girls here and there who looked as exhausted as Nao felt. Despite the lack of risk surrounding their conversation, Nao indulged Misa and leaned in closer. “I’m serious! I’ve had enough,” Misa murmured to her, her black eyes glittering with resolve, “I’ve stealing one of those bottles.”

  
“Mi-chan, those things have to be crazy expensive,” Nao whispered back, narrowing her eyes at her friend. The longer this talk of conspiracy went on, the more Nao began to realize Misa was serious about stealing from Minatsuki’s stash. “You’ll get arrested for grand larceny!” This was, of course, assuming that Misa was caught. “If you’re lucky you’ll just get fired.” There was no way in hell the hostess bar could afford cutting Misa loose and allowing another bar to snatch her up. Nao didn’t bet, but she’d wager good money that Misa picked up forty-percent of revenue just by herself.

  
Despite the very real risks involved, Misa said, “Look, I’m just telling you because you’re my friend, and I know you’re just as curious as I am.” Nao cut her a dry look. The most interest she’d ever showed in Minatsuki and her bottles were cursory glances and a few comments at the most. The way Misa went on about them, one would think Minatsuki was an alien, or a cryptid. “Fine! Fine,” she relented, raising her hands to show her defeat, “I can see you’re tired, so go home and sleep.” Misa stood up from her seat, reaching into her locker to grab her coat. Nao stared at her back, knowing her far too well to know there was more. She was rewarded a moment later as the last girl left through the back exit; Misa saying in a loud, clear voice devoid of her prior conspiratorial tone, “I’m sure I can handle this— _alone_ —by myself, as usual, since my Na-chan is no fun anymore.” 

  
It wasn’t the obviousness of her plea for Nao to join her in her thievery that made Nao change her mind. And it wasn’t for the delight that lit upon her face that Nao agreed to keep lookout. She didn’t do it for her own curiosity about the red wine bottles, or for the thrill of stealing something she wasn’t supposed to—as if she were sixteen again and sneaking her father’s beer.

  
No, it was because Misa had called her _boring_ , and Nao had realized in that moment that she was right.

  
 _Despite whether she is or not, this is still illegal._ Nao looked over her shoulder to where Misa knelt in the dark fiddling with a bobby pin and the lock on the wine fridge beneath the counter. When she had quickly gone over her plan with Nao, she knew Misa had been planning this little heist for a while now. However, despite all her bluster it was clear to Nao that she had not practiced picking locks enough.

  
“Need any help?” Nao whispered, her irritation curbed by her own amusement at the frustration on her friend’s shadowed face.

  
“Shut up,” Misa practically snarled under breath, “and keep watching the door!”

  
Nao’s lip curled up in a smile as she turned back to the manager’s office door; watching with rising anxiety the moving shadows beneath the lit frame. According to Misa’s plan, Nao would watch the door while the manager and Minatsuki went over the expense report for the week. Should it open before Misa had gotten the lock off and grabbed one of the bottles, she would cause a distraction—long enough for Misa to crawl out from behind the bar and out of sight.

  
For her own part, Nao was a little unclear about how to distract both the manager and Minatsuki. While she debated whether to wing it or bring up her contract—which was due to either be renewed or cut by the end of the month, she heard a quiet click from behind her, and Misa’s quiet squeal of triumph.

  
“Fucking Houdini, baby!” 

  
Abandoning her post, Nao rounded the edge of the counter and crouched down beside Misa as she pulled away the lock and opened the small door. The box bathed them instantly in bright light, causing Nao to squint against it as Misa’s fingers fluttered over the bottles lined up inside. There was no cold air emanating from within, nor was there any motor running to suggest that the wine fridge was cooled in any way. Was the wine not chilled when it was served? Or was it better warm? 

  
Eleven dark bottles lay in rows of four, one of the shelves vacant belying the amount served that day. There was no way with Minatsuki’s vigilance that their theft would go unnoticed, but it was a fact Misa chose to ignore as she silently slipped one of the bottles from its shelf and turned it in her hands. Few of the bottles Nao had seen had labels, and of the few that did have them she’d never had the time to read.

  
 _Chat—Chat…oh…Cl—Clone? Chateau Clone? Is it French or something?_ Nao wondered, squinting at the small letting beneath the name before it was cast into blackness as Misa closed the fridge door and snapped the lock back in place.

  
“Come on,” Misa whispered, her voice scant above silence as she grabbed Nao’s arm and pulled her back up to her feet. “We can pop this open back at my place.” Nao pushed the door to the dressing room open, propping it open with her foot as she turned back to argue against Misa’s plan. It had grown late enough, and despite the next day being her day off from her secretarial duties, she’d rather just end the night and have the victory party at a later date. Before she could say any of this, however, a masculine voice broke out from the darkness.

  
Both Misa and Nao froze as the voice called out again, asking who was there. Very little light shone from the manager’s office, and Misa had taken the liberty of turning off the lights in the dressing room beforehand. Before Nao could formulate any semblance of a plan or response, Misa shoved the bottle into her hands. Nao fumbled with her grip on the smooth surface casting Misa a questioning look—though she doubted she could see it. She stumbled back as Misa pushed her shoulders, the door closing on her friend as Nao stutter-stepped before turning around and running.

  
Should she stash the bottle? Go back and collaborate whatever story Misa came up with? Or maybe she should just keep running. Adrenaline coursed through her from the shock of being found, and the threat hanging over her head of being caught red-handed forced Nao out the back exit and into the alley. Tucking the bottle against her body beneath her coat, Nao ran out onto the street weaving between people meandering by, and ignoring harsh curses thrown at her back. Her breath fogged around her face as she panted with the exercise, miniscule snowflakes flying past her as she ran further and further away from the hostess club. It wasn’t until later, when she had run at least mile or more, when her pumping heart and need for breath forced her to stop, that she realized she’d been smiling the whole time.

  
Nao raised a hand to her face, forcing the corners down for some semblance of disapproval for what Misa and she had just done. But when she pulled her fingers away her lips spread back into a wide smile, and laughter began to bubble its way out of her throat. She pressed her hand against her face, stifling the giggles and hiding the smile—knowing that to the few people still out and about around her she looked drunk or insane. If they knew about the bottle of wine tucked away inside her coat, they’d probably think the former.

  
Nao tightened her arm around the bottle pressing against her stomach, smothering her laughter as she started to walk again.

  
In her high she hadn’t focused on where she was and neither had she thought about any particular destination to run to. Did she go home? Did she walk over to Misa’s place? Barely a quarter of an hour had passed since she had started running, and she’d rather not risk calling Misa to ask in case she was still with their manager. Nao took out her phone, checking for any missed calls while simultaneously glancing as the time.

  
 _1:28. And nothing,_ she thought, biting her lip against a frown as she looked about herself. She was starting to recognize some of the stores she passed and realized she was making her way home. She stopped in her tracks, the light from her cell phone dimming as she stared down at the screen. _I’ll just send her something vague,_ Nao decided, sending off a message to hang out tomorrow. She snapped the cell closed, her earlier joy waning as she walked down dark, empty streets.

  
|13|

  
Nao hadn’t lied that day Matsuru followed her home. Not exactly, at least. But while the man Matsuru had seen was a fake, the man fuming on her doorstep in a cloud of smoke was the real deal. She’d made sure to tell Kazuo about her new job and how late she would be most weekends, but still he stood there, his cigarette left smoldering on the ground as he glared daggers at her as she unlocked the door. He shoved past her, making her nearly drop the wine as he rubbed heat back into his arms and tramped in dirty water. Nao’s nose wrinkled at the gray smudges on her floor but said nothing.

  
“Fuckin’ freezin’ my balls off!” Kazuo complained, running a shaking hand through his auburn hair. “You _said_ ya got off at midnight!”

  
“There was a staff meeting. And I _told_ you that Saturday would work better,” Nao replied, her face pinched as she put her purse on her small counter space. When Kazuo looked away, his own features red with a mix of rage and cold, Nao took off her coat and wrapped it around the bottle. She left it on the counter top as she toed her shoes off and went to her bedroom, tiptoeing over puddles of water.

  
“You wanna be late with yer payments that’s yer own business,” Kazuo said as he watched her from beside the table. He dug through his jacket pocket and took out a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes. He bit down on one, pocketing the rest before he flicked open his lighter. Nao covered her mouth and nose the second she stepped back into the main room, the smell thick and choking.

  
Kazuo just looked at her uncaring, his demeanor bored as he held out a hand for the paper envelope. Nao walked past him to the window, shoving it open as far as it could go before she went to hand over the money. He snarled but kept quiet as he snatched it from her hand, ash falling from his cigarette to mix with the little puddle by his feet. Nao stayed close to the window, her hands absentmindedly rubbing her bare arms while she watched him count. She’d hoped for a slight breeze to disperse the smoke, but all she’d gotten was a few feeble wafts and deep chill leeching away her body heat.

  
Throughout the few years they’d been stuck together, his moods had been unpredictable bordering on dangerous. Their relationship near nonexistent aside from the once-a-month visits. The last few months however he had seemed to be perpetually on edge and irritable. His visits…less business-like than Nao had thus far experienced and preferred.

  
“Ain’t it cold over there?” he asked her, his hands frozen around the money as he glanced over at her through narrowed eyes. Nao tilted her head at the inquisition, his words mismatching with his uninterested air. “Why don’t you come over?” When she didn’t move he cracked a grin, lowering the stack of bills to his side as he took a long drag on his cigarette and turned to face her fully.

  
“Ya know, most people just say we don’ have ta count the money. Like they’re all… _trustworthy_ ,” Kazuo said, letting smoke drift lazily from his mouth and nose before he blew it out all in a rush. Nao restrained herself from covering her nose, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her discomfort even as she held her breath. “Not you though. It’s like…” he paused, looking up and around as if he were searching for the right words to insult her with. He sighed, putting his cigarette back to his lips as he tucked the money in the inner pocket of his coat. “Like you’ll trust that ‘verything‘ll be fine if you sit and wait for it to be over.”

  
Nao bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze steely as he continued to grin and talk and waste her time.

  
“What if I didn’t leave?” he asked, his cigarette tucked between two fingers as he waved it towards her, “Would ya stay over there then? Just wait for the world to move around you?” He gave a little laugh, all hard edges and acid as he smoked the cigarette down to the filter and ground it out on her table. Nao grit her teeth, her jaw tight as he took long, slow steps towards her. “It must get cold standing over in that corner all alone,” she heard him say, but she took no stock in it as she bristled at his close contact. Watched silently as he lifted his arms and boxed her in against the wall, hanging his head close to hers as he blotted out the room’s light. “’specially in that dress,” Kazuo murmured lowly.

  
She kept her stony glare on his black eyes, even as one of his hands fell from her peripheral view and came to rest on her waist. Goosebumps prickled down her arms and across her body. A grimacing sneer parted her lips as she let her eyes falter; his fingers dug into her back, his thumb rubbing a lazy circle over her stomach. 

  
“You can call me over anytime; I’ll make sure yer nice and warm. All night long.”

  
He was unequal to Yamori’s overbearing presence. The brand of fear he presented in it own category. Yet his “offer” ran through her like line of slime slipping down the back of her neck. Flattening her palms against the wall, Nao said as coldly and emotionlessly as she could, “You have the money. That’s all your getting from me.”

  
Kazuo snickered at her order, his breath stinking of acrid nicotine and an underlying note of bourbon. He pushed off from her, his grin still in place as he readjusted his coat around himself and headed for the door. Saying nothing more about his proposal for sex as he said, “Just seven more payments to go, Kohana-chan.”

  
“Six,” Nao corrected him, “It’s six more payments. And then we’re finally free.” Kazuo looked back at her, the door open in his hand as he shot her a dirty sneer and murmured, “…Sure.” 

  
He left. The door swinging shut and echoing around the small room. Nao sagged against the wall, her knees catching her weight before she completely buckled to the ground. “…He’s getting bolder,” Nao mumbled. 

  
Her night had started off pleasantly enough. Her clients had been polite in their chatter, the staff meeting hadn’t been _too_ boring to listen to. And the little theft Misa had dragged her into had been more entertaining than she’d have thought. Though that might have been due, in part, to the thrill of being nearly caught.

  
Now her hands shook not with adrenaline, but a new unnerving fear. Prickles still ran through her body, originating from the hand on her waist. Nao rubbed at the spot with the heel of her palm—aches shooting up her left wrist from the small amount of pressure.

  
Free. Free? Why had she said free? Free from Kazuo? Free from her father’s debt? They wouldn’t be free. Only her mother would be free. She…she would be dead.

  
 _But dead’s its own kind of freedom, right?_ Nao pushed off from the wall, leaving the window open as she rounded the table with its still smoldering stub. Nao unwrapped the wine from her coat, the glass surface smooth against her palm as she left her coat wadded up on the counter to place the wine on the table. She sat down before it, staring at the red-green surface as she debated whether or not to take the edge off with a small glass.

  
Ordinarily Nao preferred the light flavor of white wine to the richness of reds but couldn’t deny her curiosity of the taste of the forbidden liquor. She doubted Misa would care if she had some. If anything, she’d probably whine about doing all the work and being the last to know. In which case it might be better to wait. Nao folded her arms on the table and rested her head in the space, her face staring at the open window. She wanted to shut it. She needed to if she didn’t want to catch cold. But as her eyes slid shut on the black sky beyond, she found that she didn’t mind the slight chill creeping along her back.

  
|13|

  
It was warm when Nao opened her eyes. Which might have been her first clue that something was wrong had she not made the mistake of sleeping at the table. Her back creaked as she slowly sat up straight, several satisfying pops easing her back against the chair. She glanced over at the window, a frown on her face as she watched the slices of sky amidst the buildings turn a darker shade of black. However long she had slept—despite that she had been sleeping in a chair—had not been long enough. She thought this as she pushed her chair back and stood up, taking a moment to fold her hands and stretch her arms above her head.

  
“You shouldn’t leave your window open.”

  
Nao jumped at the voice issuing from the darkness around her. Her heart in her throat, Nao slowly lowered her arms and glanced at the window again. With growing realization, she remembered that she’d forgotten to close it before falling asleep.

  
“Wouldn’t want you to get sick,” the voice said, the mock concern thick in his voice. Nao bit back a groan as she squinted around the dark room. Despite the window having no shade, the winter night let in very little light. As it was Nao could just barely make out the outline of her table.

  
“I’m sure me dying from illness is the last thing you want,” she replied, suppressing her urge to stick out her hands and wave them back and forth to look for the source of most of her problems. Nao stayed still, her eyes darting unseeing through the little room, though she had no doubt that he was closer than he sounded. “How did you get in here anyway, Yamori-san?”

  
“How do you think?” A low chuckle circled around her as her eyes darted to the formerly open window. “You left your door unlocked.” Nao cursed as light suddenly blinked into existence, blinding her and leaving her to squint through slits at Yamori. He smirked at her, lowering his hand from the light switch beside her bedroom door. 

  
When her vision adjusted, she glared at him. Uncaring of the disgust lining her voice as she asked him, “And you just decided to come in and watch me sleep? It’s three-in-the-morning. Why are you here, Yamori-san?” He didn’t say anything. Nao pursed her lips, looking away from him as she retook her seat at the table and stared off into a far corner. She couldn’t deal with this. With _him_. How could she? In the interim of seeing through darkness Nao had caught the time labeled clearly on her microwave. From the end of Kazuo’s unpleasant visit to now, she had slept less than two hours. Nao did not feel equipped to deal with Yamori’s nighttime stalker crap.

  
Her head fell into her hands, her thumbs pressing against her temples to ward off the beginnings of a headache. Behind her she heard Yamori step away from the wall, the clicks of his shoes growing closer. She wondered if when he’d trespassed—because that’s certainly what he did regardless of her unlocked door—he’d noticed the muddied water lingering on her floor and foregone any pretense of good manners. Nao let out a heavy sigh, one hand clawing through her hair as she raised her face and looked at Yamori’s back. Watching him as he reached out a hand to tip the forgotten wine bottle to see the label.

  
“You’re plan wouldn’t have worked,” Nao said, more to herself than to him as he focused most of his attention on the wine. 

  
“Because you’re dead set on keeping your little threat,” Yamori stated. His prior smirk had left his face, leaving him with a not-so-rare look of seriousness. 

  
She shook her head a little, catching his eye. She hadn’t been sure when she’d said it, but now that he’d confirmed his intention to mess with her—to push the edges of their deal—Nao couldn’t help returning the favor.

  
Even so, when she said it she wasn’t sure if she wasn’t altogether serious.

  
“No, because right now I’d welcome you killing me.”

  
Her statement got his attention immediately, making his eyes narrow on her as he released the bottle.

  
“Liar,” Yamori sneered, turning halfway around.

  
“You’re the only liar here.”

  
“I don’t tell boring lies.”

  
Nao lowered her eyes from his, flicking to the hands he’d curled into loose fists. “If my “lie” is so boring, then why do you look so angry?” she asked him, raising her eyes to his.

  
His mouth skewed sideways—a grimace more than a smile. “‘s that what you think I am?” Nao didn’t reply beyond a quirk of her eyebrow—as if to say, “Aren’t you?” His mouth twisted further, flattening into a mean line as he jerked his head away. In her mind he might as well have said yes, but when she followed his eyes to where he was staring, whatever humor she had faded. “Who was here?” Yamori asked her, his tone flat as he looked away from the cigarette still ground into her table.

  
She swallowed thickly before saying, “No one important.”

  
“ _Who?_ ” he snarled. 

  
Nao froze at the gleaming of his teeth, her eyes locked on the sharp points of his incisors. “I told you before I had loose ends to tie up,” she told him quietly, momentarily cowed. “He’s just one of the Yakuza assholes I owe money to.”

  
“Then why do I smell him all over you?”

  
It took forever and a half to tear her eyes away from his mouth and the grimace he’d bent it into. There were many things she wondered about ghouls. If it was true they couldn’t eat human food—despite the fact that she had seen Yamori drink coffee. And if he could drink coffee, were there other things he could consume similarly? Do they feel the same way about human flesh, that humans did about their favorite meal? Did he have a favorite body part he liked to snack on? If she had to guess based on past experience, she’d say arms and fingers. Do they smoke? Do they have emotions beyond what she’d seen so far from Yamori? Did they have similar urges and desires that made them more human than animal?

  
“…Women have needs, too.”

  
She knew she was playing a dangerous game with him and knew better than to rile him up with lies. But ever since she’d run into him all those months ago, he’d been playing a game with her, and this time she wanted to join. The thing about Yamori, however, was that while he kept the visage of a calm, collected psychopath, underneath the layer of veneer he had a hair trigger temper for when things weren’t going his way.

  
As her hair was caught between his fingers, and her chair tipped back to an unsteady angle, Nao supposed she had triggered it.

  
Nao’s breath caught in her throat, choked somewhere between a cry of surprise and a gasp. Her chair wobbled beneath her, her nails digging into the wood of her seat as she depended solely on the large hand gripping the back of her head. Twice she reached for the edge of the table—to either pull herself forward or to steady herself was debatable—but she was held just out of reach.

  
Yamori’s mouth had twisted itself into an ugly snarl. His nostrils flaring as his eyes burned a bright, angry red clear of the usual pools of ink. “I told you that you’re mine,” he growled lowly, his blunt nails digging painfully into her scalp. Nao winced, gritting her teeth as she teetered. “Are you an idiot or just a whore?”

  
She ignored the insults, her left hand fluttering between the chair seat and the meaty paw knotted in her hair. Her heart pausing and restarting as the chair wobbled back and forth—the sensation of falling more fear-inducing than the actual landing.

  
Her body stayed taut even as Nao regained a semblance of calm. Her jaw tight as she gritted her teeth and looked at the man beside her keeping her on a precipice. “Why shouldn’t I have a little fun before I bite the dust,” she bit out, glaring at him.

  
He narrowed his eyes a fraction of an inch, his snarl fading somewhat though he never lost the anger radiating off his massive frame. Between that moment and the next Nao barely had time to utter a protest as his other hand came up to touch her; his palm heavy against her breast as her face flushed red. It did not rest there long as he curled his fingers, gripping the neckline of her scarlet affair and tearing it down in one smooth motion. The straps cut into her shoulders, the seams popping as he ripped it down to her waist, leaving her upper body exposed save for her plain lingerie.

  
Nao was too shocked to speak. Her hands released their vice-like grip on the chair to grab at the torn cloth draped in her lap. Yamori grabbed at her hands, pulling them away from their attempt to cover her body as he ran his eyes down the length of her. Running over the dips and the curves, the indentations of ribs and hip bones. She wobbled uncertainly in the chair, trying to pull her hands from his grasp even as she risked falling backward.

  
His face had lost much of its prior malice the moment he’d ripped the top half of her dress away, taking on a look of concentration as he examined her—as though her were inspecting her for defects. Nao flinched as he released her hands only to touch her stomach. His hand calloused and hot against her skin as his fingers curled around her waist. 

  
“You’re either lying…or your partner doesn’t know what he’s doing.” He looked at her almost lazily as his mouth relaxed into a wolfish smile. Nao jerked under his touch, bucking to get his hand off her even as the chair wobbled beneath her. She felt Yamori’s hand tighten, keeping her upright and in place as he continued to humiliate her. “You looked frustrated the other day with lover boy, too. Did you break up with him because he couldn’t get you off?”

  
He was pushing her into dangerous territory, her responses both limited and not as they seemed to point in one direction. In the back of her mind Nao knew he was teasing her, messing with her head by screwing with her body. Yamori was trying to get a rise out of her, frustrating her as her face flushed a deeper red and she bit the inside of her cheek. Embarrassment made tears sting her eyes. Humiliation made her clench her teeth and grind out, “And how to you get off? Torture porn and crying women? Or maybe you secretly enjoyed being tied down and stabbed all those days you spent in prison?” Yamori’s predator-like smile disappeared in a flash. His eyes narrowing in a warning Nao chose to ignore. “Did you get hard the second the Interrogator stepped into the room?”

  
His hand shot from her waist to her neck. Yamori’s fingers curling around her throat as he hauled her up to stand. The chair crashed to the ground beneath her—forgotten as she tried to find purchase on tiptoes. Fear flashed through her instantly, pain radiating in waves as he tightened his grip on her scalp and dug his nails into the soft flesh of her neck.

  
Nao felt the cheap fabric of her dress tickle her waist as she wriggled. “Go ahead,” Nao choked out, forcing her hands to release his wrist and drop to her sides in an effort to hold up her promise. “Do it. This was your intention, right? To see if I was serious?”

  
When Nao had made her threat all those months ago—to stay silent and pliable like a doll until the year was up—she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to uphold it. Staring into his red, furious eyes, his hand on her throat once more and seeming to dabble between snapping her neck or strangling her, Nao felt sure she’d be unable to stay silent and still. Her only chance at this point was if he was willing to let her walk rather than call her bluff.

  
Nao closed her eyes, a sign of resignation as she let her body go limp even as she risked choking. She only had to give him one more push. “Do it. The life insurance will take care of whatever’s left of that goddamn debt.”

  
Time seemed to extend past what might have only been a few seconds between her nonresistance and the sound of Yamori scoffing and practically flinging her away. Nao’s eyes shot open, her feet tripping over the chair before she found her balance. She raised a hand to her throat, probing the tender skin as she looked up at Yamori.

  
He didn’t look at her; his face turned away to sneer at the wall. “Get dressed,” he said, his voice a gravelly murmur. She swallowed, smothering a victorious little smile as she turned away from him and walked to the relative safety of her bedroom. Once inside she shut the door, forgoing the lock as she stepped out of the remains of her dress. She tossed it aside in an unseen corner, lamenting the attempt she’d make latter on to repair it as she crossed over to her dresser and pulled out an old t-shirt and a black pair of sweat pants. As Nao yanked the pants up over her hips, she heard a faint pop. She froze. It wasn’t as if Misa would be angry if the bottle was opened—though Nao knew she’d rail about the unfairness of being the last to know despite doing all the work. At best it was the worst-case scenario followed by a series of questions about the supposed uniqueness of the “off-limits” flavor Nao had to answer. Now that Yamori had opened the bottle, Nao would have to have a sip.

  
 _Why do I make it sound like a horrible endeavor?_ Nao grimaced at herself. She was making something that was supposed to be fun sound like a bad thing. She decided to attribute the attitude to Yamori. Nao paused, her t-shirt hanging from one hand while the other pressed against her naked hip. He’d touched her— _constantly_ —over the past months and often he’d been aggressive in his handling, bordering on murderous and threatening. She could count on one hand the number of times he hadn’t been—the same number of times she feared him for a completely different reason. Nao’s fingers curled, her nails clawing five jagged lines into her skin where she still felt the warm pressure of his hand against her. A sudden urge to scratch away the invisible imprint he’d left ripping through her as quick as lightning.

  
She suppressed it, pulling her hand away to slip on her shirt before she stepped back into the main room and into a scene that had her eyebrows drawing together in bewilderment. “I didn’t know ghouls could drink wine,” Nao said softly, unsure if she should be speaking at all as she watched Yamori raise a filled wine glass to his lips.

  
He took a moment to answer, his back to her as he tilted the glass and drank down the contents. When it emptied he set it down on the table and went to refill it. “We can’t,” he intoned.

  
The wine poured thick; its color much deeper than the red wine she’d rarely drank. Unease settled over her like a sheet as he set down the bottle and took the wine glass in hand. 

  
“…But you’re having a glass?” Nao slowly asked, tilting her head in confusion. Yamori neither put the glass down nor drank it. He simply held it as he turned halfway around; a brow quirked on an expressionless face.

  
“Where did you steal this?” he asked her, the bare hint of curiosity and lightheartedness edging his words causing her agitation. How did he know? Was the slight guilt she still possessed over the thievery clear on her face? Or did he think so little of her that he thought she couldn’t afford wine? 

  
“How do you know I didn’t buy it?” she asked him, a defensive edge in her voice.

  
His mouth skewed up once with a huff of laughter before he turned from her and pulled out a chair.

  
“My _friend_ stole it from work. I’m just taking care of it,” Nao sneered, the need to defend herself strong as she righted her fallen chair and sat down in a rush. When she looked back up at him a simple smile graced his face—the glass brought up to his nose to inhale the bouquet. Nao scrunched her nose. “Why are you having a glass of wine you can’t drink?” she asked, the simple pleasure he was taking in such a human act disgusting her more than it should have. It wasn’t like she herself hadn’t done it a few times in her life. Maybe it was the fact he was taking simple pleasure in something other than her ruin.

  
“This isn’t normal wine.”

  
“It’s not?” Nao felt her chest throb, her heart heavy beneath her ribs. Dark clouds rushed to occupy the spaces inside her brain as she hesitantly asked him what it was made of. His smile twitched; his eyes narrowed in quiet anticipation. It should have been her first clue to some sinister trick he was playing.

  
“Care to find out?” Yamori slid the glass across the table. A secretive smile playing along his lips as though he were setting her up for a cruel joke.

  
Her stomach retied itself in knots as she looked down at the wine glass and the deep red fluid within. Cautiously, Nao reached out a hand, fingering the glass stem as she tilted it from one side to the other. Watching as the wine swirled lethargically and left behind a thin red film. It was more viscous than what she had seen from afar, and much darker and opaque. Was wine…was _any_ wine this thick? Nao felt a touch of nausea as she hesitantly lifted the glass up to her nose and inhaled, fully expecting the soured smell of fermented grapes, only to be hit with the cloying scent of wet metal.

  
Nao reacted on impulse. Blood sloshed over the rim, coating her fingers as she slammed the glass down much too hard and too quickly. She slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, her stomach turning as she fought the urge to retch. Her reddened fingers felt numb and sticky; stiff as she pushed the glass as far as she could away from her, leaving a slug-like trail behind it. Or like a bloodied corpse being dragged away.

  
“That…that’s _blood_ ,” she choked out from behind her hand, her heart accelerating as she stared at the “wine”. Yamori’s lips spread into a wide smile; his teeth glinting in the low light with a reddish tinge. Mutely she watched Yamori take the glass from her frozen hand and bring it up to his lips again, the thickened liquid sliding down his throat. Disgust filled her at the sight before another emotion took its place: daunting horror.

  
Nao looked at the bottle perched a few inches from her outstretched arm—the bottle filled with a person’s blood—and thought of the bottles she’d delivered before. Of the container behind the bar stuffed full of those things. Of the woman who held such a grip on them they were dealt out few and far in-between, and who always told the hostesses to never drink them.

  
 _She’s a ghoul,_ Nao thought with realization, her hand sliding from her face to settle shakily in her lap, _on all sides I’m surrounded by ghouls._

  
Yamori lowered the glass from his mouth, the blood drunk down to the bottom, and looked at her as he poured himself another full glass. “This is the only alcohol a ghoul can drink,” he explained to her patiently as he watched her take long, deep breaths to stifle her rising panic. “It’s called _blood wine_. Drained from the source and fermen—”

  
“Stop—just…” Nao couldn’t deal with all this information, with all…this hitting her all at once. It was enough to just know that she was around ghouls at work, but to hear that they bottled blood and let it _sit and ferment?!_ It was too much to hear. “Let me process this,” she finished, her voice weak. Yamori smirked but kept silent, bringing the glass up to his lips and drinking the “blood wine” slower this time—as though he were savoring the flavor of the person (the thought of which disturbed Nao greatly).

  
Nao closed her eyes against the sight. Pursing her lips and curling her blood-stained hand into a fist. What would have happened had the manager not caught Misa tonight? If they’d been free to go back to Misa’s place and drink this wretched thing? Nao—as loath as she was to say this—was well accustomed to the smell of blood, but would she have still let it touch her tongue out of curiosity? Let someone’s blood slip down her throat and curdle in her stomach? She felt her gut twist at the thought, her esophagus flexing as she fought off a wave of nausea.

  
And what of the manager? Was he a ghoul as well? Or was he ignorant of Minatsuki’s wares.

  
“Take the bottle,” Nao said, her eyes focused on the woodgrain of the table. She couldn’t stomach the sight of Yamori drinking blood as though it were a fine wine—no matter what they called it. “I can’t let Misa drink that.” Its disappearance would leave for Nao the problem of explaining where it had gone, but it was well worth keeping her friend in the dark of such a horrid thing. 

  
“How do you know your friend isn’t one of us?” he asked her conversationally, as though he weren’t accusing her life-long friend of being a man-eating ghoul. Nao’s eyes flicked up to him with a sharp glare.

  
“Why would she need to steal this shit if it’s so easy to…make?” she asked, uncurling her hand enough to loosely gesture at the half-empty bottle between them. She couldn’t bear to think of the process. Draining it from the source? Letting it “ferment”? Nao thought of the only time she’d seen someone butcher a live animal and felt her face pale even further at the idea of a ghoul stringing up a body and letting it hang upside down to ride it of its blood.

  
Yamori didn’t say anything, but he needn’t have to. Now that Nao suspected Minatsuki, seeds of doubt were starting to sprout in her brain of who was a human and who was a ghoul. While she mulled over the newfound information, Yamori leaned back against the chair. In an unoccupied part of her mind she wondered if rotten blood—this “blood _wine_ ” as the ghouls called it—functioned similarly to it’s human counterpart. But if he was drunk, Nao saw no indicators. His speech—though steadily lax and far too teasing for her taste—was unimpeded. His overall demeanor was one of relaxation as he set down the wine glass and continued to watch her unashamedly. If anything, it was his cavalier attitude that tipped her off to his steady inebriation.

  
Why was he doing this? Was it because the bottle was here or because his initial plan had fallen through? Nao shook her head of such thoughts, knowing the ‘why’ of it didn’t matter. She got up, crossing over to the kitchen sink to wash her hand of the dried blood still stuck to it. The water ran red beneath her palm, growing darker as she scratched at her skin to clear it away. Mouth curling in distaste for the events thus far, and the side of him she had never seen or experienced, Nao said, “You’ve had your fun. You can leave now.”

  
“You didn’t answer my question,” he replied, ignoring her.

  
Nao inhaled a breath to clam herself down from this growing insanity. Hunched over the sink, her focus otherwise occupied, she sighed out, “And which one is that?”

  
“When was the last time you got off?”

  
Nao jumped; water splashed her shirt and neck. He’d sounded a hair’s breath away, but as she turned to look at him over her shoulder, she found he was still where she’d left him at the table. More of her growing nerves playing tricks on her. Or maybe it was the seriousness of the question that had caught her off guard. Either way she ground her teeth and tried to keep from snarling at him as he gave her a look of knowing amusement. As though he could read her mind or body and know it’d been months.

  
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Nao answered, as calmly and without frustration as she could manage. It didn’t work. Her words came out slightly harried and rushed, a touch too forced. “Don’t get more involved in my life than you already are.”

  
His amusement smothered to a graceless smirk, a small chuckle leaving his lips. Nao turned away from him, going back to clearing away the blood on her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him pluck something from the table, something small, before he went to grab the neck of the wine bottle. Was he having another glass though he’d already drunk three? She turned her head slightly to see, hiding behind a short curtain of hair. No, he was only recorking the bottle. She supposed even he would know when he’d had enough. Though if she’d ever made it to three glasses of wine in one sitting she wouldn’t be able to stand, much less talk. Which made her wonder…if alcohol—in all its forms—made people susceptible to other’s whims, then could she ask him the things that had been on her mind?

  
It struck her as unethical to take advantage of his state, but then again, when had anything been ethical between them to begin with?

  
“…Yamori-san,” Nao began slowly, grabbing his attention as she rejoined him at the table, her hand still dripping from the sink. “I want…I want to ask you something before you go home and sleep off whatever… _this_ is.” She gestured over him vaguely, her hand more of a wave as she moved it over him. His earlier delight in her squeamishness faded until what was left was dull curiosity. The evening—the mere hour they’d spent together in the dead of night—had run its course as fast and bright as a sparkler lit in summer. Beyond the dimmed glimmer in his eye that told her of his interest, he gave no verbal acceptance of either her question nor her wish for him to leave.

  
A question Matsuru had asked her many days prior leapt to the forefront of her mind. An eroded image of a waving tail like that of a hunting feline flashed behind her eyes. But rather than ask him to see his kagune—to see a ghoul’s “claws”—Nao decided to test the waters with as simple and harmless a question she could think of.

  
“Why do they call you ‘ _Jason_ ’?”

  
His mouth quirked, though Nao could neither tell whether or not it was a mocking sneer or something more genuine. Her own answers sprung to mind an American horror movie a childhood friend had made her watch. Between Yamori and the summer-camp killer, Nao could see various similarities—the violent tendencies he’d shown her on many occasions striking her as the most obvious—but none more so clear than the mask he pulled from interior of his suit jacket.

  
Yamori slid it over the table, letting her take it from his hand to examine at her leisure. The mask felt smooth beneath her fingertips; the band securing it to the face as heavy as a thin sheet of metal. As far as design went it was rather simplistic: a plain white face mask with holes drilled down the length in two columns. A stereotypical hockey mask. The name wouldn’t have made clearer sense than if he used a chainsaw to hack apart his victims—though given the alarming amount of detail she’d read on the net, he might as well have.

  
Nao let a smile slip onto her face—a small crooked upturn of one corner of her lip, but a smile nevertheless.

  
“Three months…since I stopped waiting for someone to do it for me,” she relented, deciding to reward the answer to her question with a little “give-and-take”.

  
He made no comment. No jibe to frustrate her or add to her humiliation. Yamori reached a hand across the table, his palm upturned. She placed the mask in it, her eyes lowered though she watched him place it back inside his jacket and grab the wine bottle. When he got up to leave she tracked him to the door, stuck to her seat though her voice called out. “You’re not going to take your payment?”

  
Yamori kept his back to her, opening the door and letting crisp winter air rush in. He inclined his head slightly, enough to address her without facing her. “You’ve already given me it.” He left as suddenly as he had appeared. As quickly as Kazuo had done some odd hours ago. But rather than the sense of dread and foreboding the Yakuza lackey had left her with to mull over until the next time she saw him, she felt…odd at Yamori’s departure. For a few minutes Nao wondered if he’d meant the wine or her embarrassment. For the rest of the night she tried to pinpoint what the odd lightness was in her chest.


	16. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nao seeks answers and gets surprises in return. Warning: Yandere character and blood. <-as if one could exist without the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I update too fast, you all will be disappointed in my real update speed! But I'll endeavor to get the next five chapters up real quick! I can't guarantee any speedy updates after ch. 21 though.

The week had gone by in a blur of activity, and within that time Nao had not yet decided what to do with her newfound knowledge. Over the week Minatsuki had not acted any differently from how she normally was—which was to say, she still obsessed over the minor details of her work. Aside from that, Nao did not see the woman eye any of them suspiciously or make vague inquires about the wine bottle’s disappearance. For all appearances Minatsuki had not noticed Misa and Nao’s theft.

  
Had it been anyone else they would have chalked it up to an inventory error or a miscount—life would have gone on as usual. There was no way Minatsuki would have assumed something so simple or normal. _Especially_ considering the contents.

  
 _So, she either hasn’t noticed, or she doesn’t care,_ Nao mused as she pulled another fat binder off its shelf and stacked it on the table behind her. In either case Nao couldn’t figure out why the woman wasn’t at all worried. If she was a ghoul selling to other ghouls at the bar, she’d be concerned about the possibility of exposure. If she was human, she’d worry about the CCG’s investigations into her side business or whatever it was she was doing.

  
For Nao’s own reasons she hoped Minatsuki was a ghoul, if only because it was a much cleaner answer. However, regardless of whether or not she was human, if the CCG caught wind of her activities, they’d most definitely check the hostess bar’s clientele list and the employees. Given Nao’s sordid backstory and her on-and-off employment with the bar—not to mention her endlessly bad luck—she’d get singled out as a co-conspirator. At best they would reopen Nao’s alleged involvement with Yamori’s escape from Cochlea.

  
 _Which just means I need to talk to her before someone else tries to steal another bottle,_ Nao decided, recalling with clarity the morning following Yamori’s visit.

  
Misa had come over, excited to break open the bottle despite the time of day. Nao had visibly flinched as she watched her friend’s expression fade from excitement into frustration and disappointment. Her own expression had been practiced in a mirror for half-an-hour—arching her eyebrows and forcing emotion into her eyes, even nibbling her bottom lip to achieve the right degree of nervousness and guilt. The moment the door had opened, much of what she’d remembered to do had disappeared in a flash. Her prepared explanation had stuttered quickly from her lips, betraying actual anxiety over whether Misa would believe her or not.

  
She had adamantly explained while stressing how fearful she’d been over getting caught, that she’d slipped on a patch of ice and dropped the bottle on the pavement. That the neck had shattered, and the liquid had run out before she could salvage any of it. All the while Misa had stared at her, her large black eyes widening in shock before her prim mouth had twisted into an ugly grimace.

  
Misa had opened her mouth several times, but no sound had come out. As though she wanted to say something but knew her words were too harsh for what she thought to be an accident. When the silence had grown on too long, Nao had eked out an additional apology.

  
The woman had only stared at her, her mouth skewing into a sneer before she turned and walked away, leaving Nao standing in her doorway. To put it simply, Misa had not been happy. And from that unhappiness she had resorted to ignoring Nao out of spite.

  
Nao pulled down another binder, internally sighing at her friend’s childish antics. It wasn’t unexpected, her reaction. Nao could recall a time in high school when a friend of theirs had broken Misa’s powder disk and she’d responded by pretending she wasn’t there—a full-on ghost treatment with her intentionally running into her and never pausing for a second. As cruel and immature as this was, Misa had never stuck to it for long; her boredom with the game winning out over her anger. As a result, Nao knew from experience that the longest Misa could keep this up was three weeks. With any luck she would start talking to her again in the next few days and relieve Nao of the paranoia she had gained towards Minatsuki.

  
And because Nao knew her so well, she was confident that Misa would try to steal another bottle—something that couldn’t happen if Nao wanted to stay off the CCG’s radar and save Misa from drinking blood. She stifled a shudder at the memory of that thickened liquid and its repulsive smell. She took down one last binder and stacked it on top of the others.

  
Nao grimaced at both the height of the pile and its collective weight. Sometime prior—because in the archive room, time somehow both slowed down and sped up—she had been asked to retrieve sales reports for a man on fifth, and expense reports for another on twelve. At the time she had dreaded it simply because of the sales girl on fifth Matsuru has been screwing on the side—the same one who had spent the last two years glaring and spreading obscene rumors about her arm.

  
She was no stranger to the rumor mill at work. Over the four years she’d been there many rumors had circulated about the injury she’d sustained—particularly so because when she’d first started, she’d been disinclined to share what had happened (not that that had changed over the years). One theory had been a vengeful ex-boyfriend while another was a rather unimaginative idea of “wrong-place, wrong-time”. As far as stories went, they were boring and standard, and for her own entertainment she hoped the sales girl would come up with something more imaginative the next time she saw her.

  
 _At this point I’d even take alien abductions or wild dogs._ Nao smirked as she slowly shifted the pile off the table, balancing it against her right hip and cradling it in her arm. As much as she would have wanted to somewhat share the weight of the mound of papers between her hands, pain had shot up her arm that morning, locking her joints in place with what remained of her ligaments. Grinding her teeth, Nao walked over to the elevator bank, her body hunched awkwardly to accommodate the binders.

  
The mundane and repetitive music inside lulled her into a sort of mindlessness until the elevators stopped and the doors opened. She made her deliveries quick, keeping her eyes either down or stuck to the person she was handing the binders off to. All the while she’d felt the weight upon her back. The greedy eyes heavy as they looked upon their victimized secretary as she carried what remained of the files back to the elevators.

  
Nao scowled at the metallic surface of the doors as she waited for it to arrive. Without intention Nao glanced back at the room over her shoulder, catching daggers as the sales girl sneered at her. Nao narrowed her eyes before turning back to face the doors just as they opened. She forced herself to stand straighter and to mask the strain of her right arm. There are two places where Nao would willingly allow herself to feel weak, and neither of them was where she worked. To her coworkers she might be the victim of a ghoul attack, but she was also a survivor and that is something no one can shame her for.

  
She stepped off the elevator as it dinged the next floor, a headache forming as she dropped off the rest of the files and headed back to her desk. Before she’d known it or even thought about it, she’d made her decision concerning the blood wine and the woman behind it. There were few options Nao could take with this information, and informing the authorities was not among them. Sadly, for her neither could she ignore it and hope Misa did not push her luck and try to steal another bottle.

  
 _Which just leaves confronting Minatsuki and hoping she doesn’t kill and eat me to shut me up,_ Nao thought, grimacing as she got back to work and let what would happen later drift to the back of her mind.

  
|13|

  
The rest of the day passed quickly and uneventfully. Minutes feeling more like seconds as they ticked away. Before she knew it the clouds outside had darkened, and the cool day had turned into a chilly night. Nao tugged the collar of her coat higher around her neck, her fingers numbing in seconds. She nearly sighed in relief as she curled her hand around the pocket warmers in her coat. Off-and-on the past few hours she’d thought about different ways to go about talking to Minatsuki. All of them ranged from tiptoeing around the subject to flat-out telling her that she knew. She could see several problems with either tactic. 

  
Currently her plan was to go immediately to the bar and tell Minatsuki that she knew about the bottles. From there it was a vague picture with the main points being that Nao would somehow convince Minatsuki not to kill her, and to either dissuade or trick Misa from stealing another bottle.

  
Nao did not like being dishonest with her friend—especially one who had been by her side since elementary school. But Nao knew that Misa would never let the bottles go without knowing why they were so special.

  
Nao side-stepped a stopped couple, nearly getting herself elbowed in the face in the process by someone else. Because she had never gone straight from one job to another without a stop by her apartment, she was unused to the swell of people crowding the bar and restaurant district of the Third Ward. With more than an hour until the bar officially opened, Nao picked up her pace. The chill and wind nipped at her nylon-covered heels, leeching body heat from her legs and turning them numb. She could just barely feel the tip of her nose by the time the pink neon sign of the bar came into view.

  
After knocking on the door Nao waited, crossing her arms to ward off the cold as she waited for someone to let her in. After a beat—and another series of knocks—the door opened to reveal the annoyed countenance of Minatsuki. Her mouth was poised in a sneer, ready to say something along the lines of “we’re not open” before she got a good look at who was at the entrance. She quickly reconsidered her words and said instead, “You’re early.”

  
Nao gave her a tight smile. Whatever she’d been planning to say had fallen to the bottom of her list of priorities—the first of which was to get inside so they could talk in private. “I thought I um—I could help set up,” she hastened to say, adding, “I came straight from the office; it’s too cold to be out here more than once.”

  
Minatsuki gave her a flat look, glancing down once at her plain blouse and skirt and noticing for the first time the overall lack of glamour. She stepped back, opening the door wider to let Nao inside. She nearly melted at the warmth that enveloped her the moment she walked in. A pleasured sigh escaped her lips.

  
“I know,” Minatsuki commented as she locked the deadbolt. “I was out there earlier, and I swear my nipples could have cut glass.” Nao laughed, letting her nerves bubble over. She tried to smother it, compressing her smile into a thin, upturned line. Minatsuki took no notice of her, walking past her to grab something from the bar counter. “You can put your stuff in the locker room and help me clean up this mess. Shinichi had a private party last night, and the fucker can’t pick up a broom.”

  
At her words Nao looked around at the open space, surprise and mind bewilderment coloring her face. Where it once would have been disguised by the usual lowlighting, Minatsuki had turned on all the lights, illuminating the sorry state of the hostess bar. Lowballs and wine glasses were left on couch cushions and bench seats, overturned ashtrays with half-smoked cigars and cigarette butts spilled across the hardwood floor. Wrappers, cigarette cartons, and other odds and ends were littered around the large space amid sticky pools of whiskey and sake. In the glimmer of the lights Nao spied the crystal remains of several wine glasses—their cups shattered while their stems resembled the point of a needle. Nao might’ve been disgusted if she wasn’t so surprised at her boss. Stranger still was hearing Minatsuki use his name so informally and familiarly.

  
Nao treaded further into the room, angling towards the locker and edging past a puddle of wine. “Was he hosting? Or…?” she hesitated to ask.

  
“He lends out the floor space when the bar is closed,” Minatsuki replied behind her, picking up a discarded, intact wine glass off the ground, “but he drops the ball when it comes to the cleanup.” She didn’t say anything more, and neither did Nao ask, both falling silent as Nao played hopscotch on her way to the locker room. She came back a few minutes later after depositing her purse and coat; Minatsuki had dragged a trashcan out from behind the bar and was sweeping broken glass into it. Nao glanced around the room one more time before she got started, grabbing empty glasses off tables and seats, and filling the sink behind the bar with soap and water.

  
They continued like that for the next hour: Nao unsure of what to say and Minatsuki none-the-wiser. If there was ever a good time to talk to the barista without fear of eavesdroppers and death, it was now when a coworker might walk in at any moment. But while Nao knew this, she found that she could not broach the subject. Could not make real the reality Yamori had dropped into her lap. Ghoul patrons flirting with humans while drinking wine made of blood. It sounded more like a fanciful image than a very real thing. A thing that had been happening for however long Minatsuki had worked at the bar.

  
 _Or however long the bar’s been open._ Nao let the thought sink in, distrust forming in her gut at the insinuation that her kind-hearted boss might actually be a ghoul. Her hands stilled around a lowball glass and a dish towel. For a moment she played with the idea that the hostess bar might actually be a cover. Her boss’s version of a lobster tank where the clients got to pick their entertainment and their meal.

  
Nao shook her head, dislodging the idea and going back to work, placing cups and glasses amidst others on various shelves. In the myriad months she had worked at the bar, none of the girls had mysteriously gone missing. Misa, who had worked at the hostess bar for five years and had the habit of being a gossip-monger, had never made mention of anything unusual happening at the bar aside from the wine bottles. 

  
Her fear assuaged for the moment, Nao stepped out from behind the bar, tugging down the damp cuffs of the blouse and glancing at the floor. Minatsuki had cleared away much of the trash that had littered the ground and had emptied the trash into a bag. Now she was disentangling a mop bucket and mop from the back of a closet. Tendrils of bright orange hair fell from her ponytail and into her eyes as she gave the yellow bucket one forceful pull, slamming the door shut just as several items inside rushed to fill in the space.

  
“Fill this with water, would you? I’ve gotta unlock the alley door before the girls get here.” She shoved the bucket towards Nao, the wheels skidding in the sticky puddles of alcohol before Nao caught it. By the time she looked up, the door to the locker room was swinging shut. Nao looked back down. A mop and bucket. She let a wistful smile flit across her face before she dragged the bucket over to the sink.

  
Nao hadn’t moved far from the Twenty-Third Ward despite her desperation to get as far from the prison as possible. When the flight-or-fight response had waned from her body, she had elected to take a nice, safe office job. As a result, she was now stuck between the CCG headquarters and a district known for its bloodshed—a happy medium if there ever was one. And now, four years later and three wards away, Nao was mopping up sticky substances once more. A mop, no longer plain wood but brightly-colored plastic, between her hands as she fell into that familiar rhythm. Swipe in an arc, scrub out a zig-zag, dunk, repeat, sweep beneath a glass coffee table, dunk, repeat first verse, dunk, repeat. Dunk, repeat. Dunk, repeat. What would Yamori think if he saw her now? Would he be as caught up in memories as she was? Dunk, repeat. Would he remark about time repeating itself? Dunk, repeat.

  
She paused, letting a snicker pass through her lips at the absurdity. _If time were repeating itself, you’d be tied to a chair,_ she thought to him, _and I’d still be afraid._

  
“What’s so funny?” Minatsuki asked. To her credit, Nao did not jump in surprise. She simply looked over to see the other woman leaning against the back of a loveseat watching her with idle interest.

  
Nao gave her a mirthless laugh. “Ha…nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing’s funny. It’s just…I haven’t had to mop at work since I was over at the prison.”

  
She couldn’t remember if she’d ever told Minatsuki that once upon a time she had worked at the ghoul prison. For a slim moment she thought about reiterating her statement or just cutting the budding conversation short. Minatsuki’s eyes darted down the mop handle. “’s that were you scored that?” She nodded towards Nao’s hand. 

  
Self-consciously she clenched it tighter around the handle—she hated when people made note of her injury. She turned away from Minatsuki then, staying in place at an angle where her hand couldn’t be seen as she continued to mop the floor. Much of it was clean already, but in the absence of something to say, Nao decided to keep the charade going.

  
“You ever want to talk about it, I can lend an ear,” she heard Minatsuki say, her voice much softer than before.

  
A spike of anger ran through her, and without meaning to Nao spat over her shoulder, “A lot of people always want to hear the story.”

  
For the longest time Minatsuki was silent. Nao swept one more line over the polished wood before dunking the mop to ring out the excess water. When she spoke next, it was with a rustle of cloth accompanying her as she lifted the bottom edge of her right pant leg. “Lotsa people don’t understand what it’s like.”

  
Nao turned to her then, lips poised to say something that was immediately forgotten when her eyes locked on the shiny, silver scaring extending down Minatsuki’s calf from her knee to her ankle. From what Nao could see, something had dragged its teeth down her leg, taking with it several layers of skin. It looked old. Far older than Nao’s.

  
When she went to ask how old she’d been, however, Minatsuki had pulled her pant leg back down. Cutting her off before she’d even said a word, she told her, with a glance at her cell phone, “I’ll take it from here. You should go get changed.” She pushed away from the couch, taking the mop from Nao and pushing the wheeled bucket away. Nao said nothing more on the subject, unwilling to push her for more information. She left her alone, disappearing into the locker room to change into one of the spare dresses on hand.

  
Nao wasn’t sure if ghouls could scar, only that they could heal faster than was natural. When she tried to think back to the Interrogator’s victims, she saw only fresh wounds and slower, healing injuries. Nothing had been left to heal, had been allowed to scar and serve as a horrific reminder. The best that Nao could think of were the open tears crisscrossing the bodies and totally unchanging after the ghoul had died. 

  
No longer could Nao determine with certainty that Minatsuki was a ghoul, but neither could she let that irritating idea go. It was one thing for a ghoul to sell blood wine, but it was entirely different for a human to. 

  
_Which just means I’m back to square one,_ Nao thought with unease, zipping up her dress just as her coworkers began to arrive.

  
|13|

  
Cold air bit the inside of her lungs as she leaned against the alley wall beside the door. Her intentions with Minatsuki and the bottles had up and died with the barista’s revelation. But regardless of whether or not she was ghoul, she was knowingly selling blood. And while Nao knew she had no say in what was sold at the bar, she needed to at least warn Minatsuki of possible theft.

  
Or…warn whoever was having her sell the bottles. Once again, the idea of the manager being the ghoul drifted through her mind, but while she knew it was a stronger possibility than Minatsuki selling the wine under his nose, Nao could not him as the monsters the CCG had advocated against—or the one that Nao knew personally. He had been kind in his understanding of her situation, and while she did not like being referred to by her old pet name, he’d had no knowledge of the fact when he’d chosen it. Similarly, he had never mistreated any of the women working at the bar and had always gotten involved when a customer had gotten too handsy.

  
But appearances belied the truth of a person’s inner self. Killers could be charming, and monsters could be kind. Gangsters could pretend to be patient until the bill came due, and fathers could put on a smiling face while beneath the mask, they were planning to kill themselves. Case-in-point was Nao herself. Unlike most of her coworkers, Nao did not delight in her client’s affections and attention, and neither did she enjoy lavishing the same on effective strangers despite them being her regulars. Nao was in this for the money and nothing more. And while there were days on occasion when she did feel for their irritations and annoyances at their lot in life, they were simply days when she herself was in a good mood and feeling generous.

  
Nao sucked in another cool breath, her eyes sliding shut as she masochistically enjoyed the bite in her throat. 

  
She had needed a break and had left the moment her client’s time was up. A few minutes in however, she was starting to feel the cold’s effect. Already, chill had started to creep up her legs from her toes, and despite the satin gloves, strings of pain were lacing her fingers. Still Nao stayed, soaking in the peace and quiet of the alley and the brief reprieve from her act. In a few minutes she would go back inside and spend the rest of her break warming up. Just a few minutes lon—

  
“Nezzumicchi?”

  
Nao’s eyes shot open in alarm, darting through the air in front of her before she looked over towards the mouth of the alley. Nishikawa stood a few feet away from her, his back to the crowd passing behind him. In the dim light from the bulb above the alley door, Nao could make out his outline. The curves of his narrow shoulders, the fine, feathered appearance of his shaggy hair. He took a step closer to her, making Nao flinch back reflexively—a gesture that went unnoticed as Nishikawa tilted his head at her in question. She could now see the concern lighting his brown eyes, and the simple smile on his face as he asked her, “Aren’t you cold?”

  
Nao stared at him a few seconds longer, her eyes still widened in shock before she forced herself to relax. She quickly shook her head, prying her mouth apart from the grim line it had sewn to add dumbly, “I like cold.”

  
The concern left his face then, easily sliding into the easy warmth he had shown every time he had visited. Now that Nao thought of it, beyond the run-in she’d had with him at New Year’s she hadn’t seen him weeks.

  
“Nezzumicchi, I didn’t know you like the cold.” She liked it for reasons softer and sweeter in nature. The mere idea of a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea on a chilly, unpleasant night being enough to turn her body into jelly. In this particular moment, however, she didn’t; the tingling along her spine doing more to freeze her than the cold air around them. Nao nodded her head mutely, unsure of what to say in response. Nao looked away from his eyes, trailing down the length of his body and taking in details she hadn’t bothered to notice before. Nishikawa was shorter than she’d assumed, just barely two inches above her head. He wasn’t dressed for the weather, his dark, long-sleeved shirt the only thing covering his upper body while a dark pair of jeans did little to shield him from the frost of late January.

  
Well…it wasn’t like Nao had the right to talk given her own legs were clad in nothing but nylon.

  
She decided to say something safe, uncertainty still roiling through her as he continued to stare at her with the same gentle smile she had begun to fear. “Do you…like the cold too?” she asked, looking pointedly at his clothing.

  
He gave a little start, red flushing his cheeks as he looked down at himself. “No. I uh…I don’t.” He looked up at her from beneath his lashes, his mouth skewed sideways as he gave her an embarrassed grin. “I got my jacket dirty earlier, and I didn’t want you to see.”

  
The tingle of fear from earlier had not gone away, and the longer she spent in his presence the darker the feeling in Nao’s gut got. Without meaning to Nao took a step to the side, away from Nishikawa to further the distance between them. Nishikawa’s eyes dropped down to the ground, his smile drooping a bit at the corners. Nao kept her eyes on his face, her hostess smile in place as she awkwardly slid into small talk. “I haven’t seen you in so long. How has the New Year treated you?” she asked him.

  
His eyes returned to hers; Nao wished they hadn’t. The question, as innocuous as it’d been, had agitated him clearly. He lifted a shaking hand up to rub over his mouth, holding it there for a few moments as he grasped for words. “I kn…I knew it’d make you upset,” he told her from behind his fingers. Nao swallowed as she took another step away along the wall. “I tried…I wanted to see you again, but, but…I ran out of money.”

  
Nishikawa’s voice was taking on a shaky quality, extending outwards towards the rest of his body as his shoulders started to shake. “You understand r-right?” he asked her. Nao bit the inside of her cheek hard, nodding her head. It was best, in this situation, to go along with his train of thought, to not agitate him further than he already was—until she could find a chance to either turn him away or run.

  
“An—And they wouldn’t let me inside the door! Even to just explain why I couldn’t visit you,” Nishikawa was telling her, slowly trailing after her as Nao slid further back along the wall. For the moment he couldn’t seem to grasp that Nao was trying to distance herself. Weeks ago, Nao was just starting to grasp the full delusion of Nishikawa’s affection for her, mistaking it as a minor infatuation. And now…now she was facing the result of her obliviousness.

  
“That…that seems so cruel,” Nao said, chancing a glance away from him to look over her shoulder. If she could get closer to the back corner of the alley, she could try to run, banking on his surprise to buy a few seconds of a head start. Or she could just wait and see how long it took someone to notice that she hadn’t come back from her break.

  
Nao was stopped from making a decision when Nishikawa suddenly drew her attention back to him. “Yes!” he shouted, “It is! Your boss…so many people…” Nao shrank back against the wall as he got closer. Flinching when his hands struck out to grab hers. “ _Everything_ is trying to keep me away from you,” he was telling her, folding her hands together between his palms. Nao felt a shiver of revulsion wrack through her, her body shivering with untapped adrenaline. “All those other men! They’re getting in th—” Nao pulled away from him, the back of her jacket scratching against the brick wall as she yanked away her arms from his grasp.

  
Nishikawa tightened his hold the second she’d tried, the material of her gloves working in Nao’s favor as the satin slipped between their fingers. Nao hastened back a few more steps, nearly tripping in her mad scramble and losing precious seconds when she stopped to right herself. Heels had never been her ally. Nao wasn’t even aware that she’d lost her gloves until Nishikawa spoke. “Ne…Nezzu…micchi? What…” She looked up at him, her breath held as she took in the shocked look on his face. Betrayal littered his expression, his brows drawn down in confusion. Then his eyes dropped, and the expression vanished, leaving only traces of dismay. “What…happened to your hand?” For the second time that night, Nao moved her arm out of view. It was too late to mask what was marred and what was missing—no point to it at all as he held up her gloves and fingered the small wad of cotton stuffed inside.

  
There were many times throughout the years when Nao had to steel herself for the onslaught of faces that stared at her hand. Snarling mouths of disgust and curious eyes. Notes of interest, fear, sympathy, and general distaste. But the one Nishikawa gave her now…Nao braced herself against the anger, the frustration making rough the soft edges of his face. Against the jealousy he now wore as he fought for words.

  
“Did it—you…” He stopped, dropping the hand holding her gloves to his side, clenched it in a tight fist while he dragged the other through his hair, disheveling it further. “Nezzumicchi…who did you give it to?”

  
Nao stared at him. Dumbfounded that he could possibly think that she _willingly_ gave her finger away. “That man—the man I saw you with? Did you give it to _him_?” A rivulet of anger flowed through her before she stamped it out. Keeping her face as neutral as possible, Nao slowly backed up, her heel in line with the edge of the alley. 

  
“I didn’t give it to anyone,” she told him honestly. She took another step back. He took several forward. She turned to her right, spinning on her heel and dashing around the corner—

  
A brick wall rose dozens of feet above her head at the far end of the narrow space. An enclosed dead end forming an L-shape with the only way out past a stalker. Nao’s hope fell away, leaving her feeling like her legs had been swept out from beneath her. Nishikawa caught her still form, his hand clawing into her shoulder as he shoved her against the wall bordering the bottom edge of her L-shaped trap. He grabbed her left hand, encasing her thin wrist in an iron-like manacle as he held it between them. Her gloves laid forgotten in a pile on the filthy ground.

  
Had it not been her left-hand Nao would have fought, would have torn her hand from his grasp and attempted to run past him. Had she not feared injuring herself further, she would have tried. Her bones protested sharply, screaming at her to relieve the pressure upon them. Nao gave it a ginger tug, achieving nothing but a tighter grip.

  
Nao watched him as he examined her hand, analyzing every line and every tear on her palm. He grazed his thumb over the edge of her metacarpal, between the webbing of her thumb and middle finger; he was uncaring of the sting of pain that crossed her face. “Not just your finger but…all of this?” he asked without breaking his focus on her hand. He followed the trail of scarring down her hand to her wrist. He released her shoulder to yank down the cuff of her coat, the fabric rubbing against the stretched, pink skin.

  
There was a tick in his jaw as his teeth clenched. Nao looked over his shoulder, down the alley where the little lightbulb above the door was. Her break had to have ended, right? Someone must have noticed her absence by now, right? _Misa? Manager?_

  
“I saw…I saw you give him money,” Nishikawa was saying, rubbing his hand over her arm, taking in each tooth-shaped print still etched in her skin, feeling the smoothness of the bone underneath. His eyes darted over to hers. Irritation filled him when he saw her lovely toffee eyes were ignoring him, looking past him—like they always did. “but…you gave him yourself, too?” Was she thinking about that other man even now when he was right in front of her? When he’d gone through the trouble of getting her such a nice gift?

  
Nao shifted her eyes back over to him, her pupils dilated to pinpricks as fear washed over her. “It…It wasn’t on purpo—"

  
Her was cut off with a scream—her own as he raked his nails over her radius, drawing blood. Her heart filled her head, drowning out Nishikawa’s voice. “That’s not—that... That’s not fair! That’s not…I want a piece of you, too!” Nao nearly dropped to her knees. Her back pressed tight against the wall to keep herself upright and from putting any unnecessary weight on her arm. Blood ran down the length of her forearm, collecting in the material of her coat cuff. “I want more than what you gave him!” Nishikawa shouted, abruptly throwing her arm to the side. Nao clutched it up against her chest, drawing her sleeve back over the exposed skin to shield it from any more abuse.

  
She hadn’t planned for this to happen. To be caught outside, pinned against an alley wall while a client berated her. Nao had only planned to be threatened by Minatsuki. The only wild variable she hadn’t planned for had been a client she hadn’t seen in weeks. A man she’d seen as harmless and sweet, and thought about so little in her effort to focus on the people currently controlling her life. Nao had been completely blindsided—and now she was going to pay for it.

  
Nishikawa reached into his pocket then. Nao pushed herself back further, angling away from him towards her left only to have his other hand pin her shoulder to the wall. “I got you a present!” he was saying. Nao turned her head away from him, his breath fanning the side of her face as he tried to get her to look at him. His face was close. Too close. “Give me a piece of you in e—!”

  
He stopped.

  
Nao waited for him to finish, her eyes entirely focused on the enclosed corner beside them. When the only sound she heard was her own ragged breathing, Nao looked back at him. His mouth was still open around the word he was going to say, his eyes as wide as saucers though the anger from before had left in a flash. Nao furrowed her brow at him, watching him with trepidation in case he tried to startle her again. 

  
He succeeded. But not in the way he would have wanted. Not in the way _anyone_ would have wanted. In the darkness of the alley, Nao could just barely make out the thin bit of blood welling up inside his mouth before it spilled quickly over the curve of his bottom lip. “Nishi…kawa?” Nao watched it drip down his chin and drop from the soft point. Her eyes froze on the collecting pool, each miniscule drop creating a tiny ripple upon the blue-green surface of an odd-looking blade. Bile rose up in her throat, burning her esophagus when she realized Nishikawa had been run though his chest. She pressed a hand hard against her mouth to stifle the scream threatening to erupt.

  
He dropped his gaze from her to his chest. Nishikawa reached towards the object with a shaking hand, his fingers sliding along the surface and spreading the blood. “…e’eryone…” he murmured. Nao watched with increasing horror as the thing piercing his body slowly retreated, disappearing from view until what was left was a hole. And then that started to disappear as well. Shrinking from a fist-sized tunnel as flesh crawled and writhed to fill in the space.

  
Nao looked back up at Nishikawa’s face, her jaw nearly dropping in disbelief at the sight of red-and-black eyes glaring down at her. “Ghoul…” was all Nao could say. Nishikawa looked away from her, turning his hate-filled gaze to whatever was behind him, his mouth opening to yell,

  
“Everyone’s always getting in the—!”

  
Warm fluid hit Nao’s face, staining her coat as Nishikawa was once more cut off. Nao could not move. Could not speak or look away from the spot where Nishikawa’s head used to rest upon his shoulders. In one deft swipe his life had ended. In one mere fraction of a second, he’d been rendered headless. Nao flinched, her whole body shaking with one enormous wave when she heard it strike the ground a dozen feet away, bouncing before it rolled to a stop. She found it impossible to tear her eyes away, watching as his body retained his tense emotions for a moment longer before it grew lax. His body slid to the ground in a rush, crumpling under its weight and revealing to her the figure who had caused this.

  
Nao leaned her body heavily against the wall behind her, using it to hold her up as her knees threatened to buckle. Her hand was still pressed tight to her mouth, Nishikawa’s blood spotting the back of it. The figure standing before her now was lean and vaguely masculine in the way they held themselves. In the little light available, Nao could see he were wearing a light-colored jacket and pants, their hair as equally fair-colored and falling neatly just beneath their ears. She slid her gaze to the right of him. What looked to her like armored plating covered his shoulder and ran down the length of his right arm, ending in the fearsome looking edge of a sword, and shaded in green and red.

  
Her knees failed her. She dropped heavily to the ground, landing awkwardly on top of one foot while the other folded up to her chest. Nao watched near-transfixed as the strange blade seemed to fade away before her eyes. Unmoving, she watched as the man who had killed Nishikawa took a few steps forward. Nao shrank beneath him, seeming to wilt as she tried to determine whether or not she was still in danger.

  
Was the blade thing what Matsuru had talked about? Was that a ghoul’s claws? Compared to the image she’d seen before she’d blacked out, it was much more angular and less fluid than what she’d seen of Yamori’s—what little she remembered anyway. Was this man going to kill her? Had he—maybe rightfully—assumed that Nishikawa was going to eat her, and killed him for the right instead? Was she going to die after she’d just been saved?

  
Nao’s body shook with fear as the man crouched down in front of her, Nishikawa’s body between them and all but forgotten as Nao stared at the youthful face in front of her. “Hey!” he—his voice definitively masculine—shouted, “You’re Nyan, right?”

  
She wasn’t sure if she should say no.


	17. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Naki; Right hand man of the Thirteenth Ward's Jason.  
> Warning: blood. Lots of blood.

Time seemed to slow down from the rapid pace it had been in before. The rancid smell of fresh blood washing over her as she tried to focus on the unknown man. She pressed her hand tighter over her mouth and nose, trying to block the stench from nauseating her further. Nao’s head felt fuzzy, cottony. She let her eyes drift down to the body.

  
Through all the days she had worked at Cochlea, all the bodies she had seen and had had to call someone to retrieve—even with her own father—she had never been a witness to any of their last moments and subsequent demises. She had never seen someone die in front of her. The closest that Nao had ever gotten to such a sight prior to now had been the days leading up to Yamori’s eventual escape when she’d thought any moment, he might finally let go of his determination to live.

  
Nao drew her knee up tighter to her chest; the other folding itself further underneath her, scratching against the concrete ground. Nishikawa’s death had been quick; his head severed before he ever saw the perpetrator. Even now, it lay facing away from them. Sightless eyes staring at a plain brick wall while his body—though things _had_ slowed down—quickly drained of blood.

  
Another waft assaulted her; her stomach turning as bile burned the lining of her throat. Nao turned on her hip, doubling over her knees and dragging her hand away just in time to vomit onto the ground. Stomach continuing to roil, Nao dry-heaved as stomach acid and saliva dripped from her mouth. Secretly she was glad she hadn’t eaten anything since noon, even as her throat burned undiluted.

  
Above her the blond man wrinkled his nose at Nao’s display, sitting back on his heels as he watched her with mild disgust. She ignored him, clutching at her stomach and groping at the ground in an effort to keep herself from slumping sideways. She stared at the ground with an intensity that hurt her eyes. Determined to not look at the body again despite it being near enough to touch, and despite his blood encroaching into her line of vision. Nao stayed frozen in her terror, in her sickness, until lukewarm blood ran beneath her fingers, tickling the skin of her palm, and revolting her further.

  
Nao burst into a coughing fit as her stomach jumped to throw up nothing.

  
 _“Why?_ ” she asked him between heaving breaths as she fought to gain control of herself, “Why d…why d-did you do that?” Nao eased herself back to sit against her heels, her left hand going to wipe at her mouth while her eyes stayed glued to the ground. It wasn’t the most important to question to ask at that moment. ‘Who are you’ and ‘please don’t kill me’ would’ve been much more appropriate to have passed through her lips. But to her it was pretty relevant. If he’d killed Nishikawa to eat her, then why hadn’t he killed her already? Why ask her such an unusual question?

  
The man scoffed. “Are you Nyan or aren’t ya?” he replied instead of answering. Slowly Nao drew her gaze away to land on the man, skimming quickly over the corpse. She didn’t answer him right away. She didn’t do anything quick, or alarming, or unusual for fear that this man—this _ghoul_ —would kill her as well. His impatience with her ongoing shock grew the longer Nao stayed silent—something she could not help as she processed the fact that Nishikawa was a ghoul, and that she had just watched him _die_. The man sat back on his haunches, his arms lazily thrown over his knees as his brows knit themselves together and his mouth turned down in a scowl. Nao took advantage of his momentary silence to look him over now that he was close enough to see.

The ghoul’s hair was indeed blond, parted into three neat sections with the middle part pushed back from his forehead, leaving the other two to frame either side of his annoyed face. His cheeks were rounded, indicating youth. His eyes were red, tinged yellow towards the outer rims while his lids were shadowed black. All-in-all he looked to Nao to be in his early twenties—if she was being generous—though the impatient air he gave off suggested someone younger than that even.

  
When he repeated his question again, Nao declined to answer. Instead she chose to stall, flicking her eyes down at the black dress shirt, white suit jacket and matching pants he wore. Everything about him was out-of-place and unusual, even compared to the types of people she had met thus far. Yet none of them reminded her so deeply of another. Vaguely familiar. As if this man was a smaller carbon copy…

  
_No..._

  
“You w-work for Yamori-san.”

  
Nao didn’t need to phrase it as a question. It was evident just by looking at this man. Even more so when he let out an exasperated sigh and leant his face into the cradle of his palm. “Yeah,” he replied, “He told me to look on Nyan. So, where is she?” This last part he said with edge, his impatience with Nao reaching its limits. “You’re her, right?”

  
Nao shook under his glare, recalling—unbidden—the blade he had taken to Nishikawa’s neck. She replied hesitantly, unsure about the name he had chosen to call her. “I…I think I’m Nyan.”

  
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You don’t know your own name?” 

  
“You m-misheard. My name is _Nao_. Not—not Nyan,” she informed him—haltingly, forcing her voice out through the squeak and stammer hindering her. He raised a brow at her but said nothing to contradict what she’d said. Nao sighed slowly. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she lowered her eyes to the body laid out between them. It hadn’t moved in the last few minutes, and the blood had slowed its spread. Nishikawa was dead. His presence in that alley reduced to an unmoving body. A body that Nao—loath as she was to admit it—was more comfortable with than the act that had made it.

  
Tremors wracked her body and tears stung her eyes, the aftershocks of her prior horror and fear. Nao skid on her knees closer to the wall. Bracing herself against the scratchy surface, she slowly raised herself to stand on unsteady legs; careful not to touch the wall with her bloodied hand.

  
 _He’s dead. He’sdeadhe’sdeadhe’sdead. He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t stalk you anymore,_ Nao reassured herself, trying to tamp down her nerves. _It’s just a body. You’ve dealt with bodies. You’re used to bodies!_

  
As if he could hear her internal thoughts, the man asked, “What’s with you? Big Bro said you’ve seen lots of dead bodies before.” He stood up from his crouch, smoothing out the creases in his suit. He sounded _disappointed_. Nao narrowed her eyes at him. Just because she had didn’t mean she liked to _see_ them continuously!

  
Rather than point this out, Nao said, “You haven’t told me who you are yet.” Her heart still beat rapidly against her ribs, although her shallow breaths had evened out considerably. She was slowly calming down. It worried her completely.

  
The small amount of aggression the man had exuded melted to make way for pride. His arms came up to cross over his lean chest, and his chin lifted the slightest bit as he told her, “I’m Naki. Big Bro’s right-hand man!”

  
Nao stared at him for a moment as she quickly catalogued the multitude of questions she had for him in order of what was most relevant to her current situation. “…Naki-san,” he turned crestfallen when he noticed the lack of awe Nao had for his position, “can you…drag the body over there?” Nao pointed with one bloody finger to where the head had fallen, a scant few feet from the real end of the alley. “Please?” she tacked on when she noticed his grimace. 

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Naki stooped down over the corpse. He grabbed hold of Nishikawa’s leg and started dragging him out of view of the far end of the alley. Nao stared at the entrance with incredulity. With all that had happened she would have thought there would be no one walking about, or at the very least there would be frantic running away from the sight of a ghoul murder. What she found instead was normalcy based in ignorance of what had happened no less than forty feet away. People— _humans_ —did not know that she had been assaulted by a ghoul. They did not know that someone had died. 

  
A _thump_ brought her attention back to Naki as he let the leg drop to the ground.

  
Careful to avoid stepping in blood, Nao side-stepped her way over to him, asking, “Why does Yamori-san want you to watch me?” Below her feet, Nao kicked aside a small box. She stopped, taking a moment to survey the cardboard and the twine tied around it. _A present…he said._

  
Naki gave her a careless shrug, the gesture going unnoticed as Nao crouched to collect the small box. It felt light. It’s weight uneven as whatever was inside slid with movement. “He said to look on you this week while he’s busy,” Naki relayed to her. Nao pocketed the box with the intention to see what was inside later. She took this information in stride, taking a slow breath to level the agitation slowly welling up inside of her to replace the fear from earlier.

  
“He sent you—” Why had he done that? “—because he was busy?” Since when was Yamori too busy to terrify, irritate or otherwise vex her? Although if she thought about it, wasn’t that what was happening now?

  
Naki nodded, leaning back against the wall. He added in an absentminded way, “You’ve been pretty boring to look at though. Until now.” 

  
She wondered idly if the word he meant was “watch”. That Yamori had instructed him to “watch” her while he was busy doing god knows what. “Why is he busy?” she asked him slowly. Her nerves had not yet recovered from the earlier shock, even as the conversation turned lax. It did not escape her notice that her break must have ended by now. That the manager would be wondering where she was, or the very prevalent fact that she was _covered in blood._

  
“’Cause he is,” Naki told Nao simply, “He’s super important.” Nao noted the pride with which he’d said it, the slight curve on either point of his mouth. Naki was suppressing a smile. He was failing.

  
Nao nodded without really believing him. “Yes,” she said to affirm his belief, “but…what is he doing?”

  
“He’s doin’ important stuff.”

  
The vagueness of the answer told Nao that he wasn’t privy to the specifics of whatever Yamori was busy with. She tried to ask him a different question. “Why did he ask you to watch over me?” She was given a similar response when Naki huffed in agitation and replied,

  
“’Cause he said to!”

  
The way he said, the way he acted, reminded Nao of a child. This feeling was further enforced when he crossed his arms and restated his purpose. “Big Bro Yamori told me to look out for you ‘cause he’s busy. So, when he’s not, then I won’t.”

  
Nao bit the inside of her cheek, knowing without a doubt that she’d be unable to glean anything more from him. Her energy was deflating the longer this went on. Her adrenaline burning her out now that the prior threat had been taken care of. Nao’s shoulders slumped in defeat; she reached a hand up to rub at her eyes, stopping short when she remembered the blood clinging to her skin. She instead closed her eyes against the growing headache, massaging her temple with the knuckle of her unstained left hand.

  
“So, what should I do with the stiff?”

  
Nao opened her eyes. “What?”

  
_SNAP!_

  
Nao bristled at the sound. Naki released the pressure he had put on his index finger, rubbing his thumb over the middle as he cast an indifferent look over the body beside them. “What should I do with him?” he asked again.

  
Hesitantly—begrudgingly—Nao looked down. Nishikawa’s arms had flipped up from being dragged; his neck wound still oozing blood while beside his hip his head sat in a puddle of it. A shiver wracked her. Despite the number of bodies she’d encountered, she could never get used to the sight. And never before had she seen a decapitated one. The prisoners— _victims_ —had been relatively whole save for minor detachments and an abundance of ¬gashes. Her father’s had been dismembered and ground into an unrecognizable pulp. The only part of him she could identify without need of a DNA test being the material of his suit encasing his severed arm, and a charm bracelet she’d made for him when she was seven.

  
“I…um…” Nao didn’t know what to say. The only thing she knew to do for dead bodies was to call someone to retrieve it and take it away. It wasn’t a viable option—especially if she wanted to keep the hostess bar from being overrun with ghoul investigators. “I guess…you could—”

  
She stopped short. What was she about to say? What was she about to let Naki do? _Eat him?!_ Nao didn’t have the right to hand over Nishikawa’s body to be devoured—no matter what he’d done. Not to mention he’d already paid for it with his life.

  
“Bury him,” she said instead.

  
“Do what?”

  
“Just…bury him somewhere,” _somewhere far away,_ “Somewhere no one can find him; as long as he’s not here.” _–Anymore._

  
“Why can’t you do it?!” he asked Nao indignantly, “He’s dead ‘cause of you, so you should do the work!”

  
_Dead because of me…_

  
Nao shook her head, not letting his words stick to her brain like seeds. “Yamori-san promised he wouldn’t cause me trouble,” Nao told him forcefully before dialing back her anger and telling him, “And I have to go, or my boss will come looking for me.” Naki’s face screwed up, his mouth half a snarl and half a sneer. He looked to be on the verge of whining before, in a split-second decision, Nao put her hands together in prayer and bent at her waist. “Please do this for me just this once!” she exclaimed, her face parallel to the ground, and her body threatening to tip forward on high heels.

  
Silence. He choked whatever he’d been about to say back into one heavily enunciated word: “ _Fine._ ”

  
“Thank you!”

  
Nao straightened, giving him a quick facsimile of a smile before she peeked around the corner to make sure no one was looking.

  
“Hey, Nyan!”

  
Nao looked back at him, realizing too late that he’d said the wrong name. “What are you to him?” Naki asked, “How does a weak human like you know my god-like boss?”

  
She wasn’t sure how to answer him. Neither did she have the time. Nao pursed her lips at him, leaving him confused as she ran quickly to the alley door and slipped quietly into the locker room. To her great relief no one was present. Before that statement could turn, Nao ducked into the bathroom. 

  
She froze upon entering, her eyes stuck on the mirror reflecting back her blood-splattered face. She should only be so lucky there wasn’t a massive bruise ringing her neck. Nao jerked herself to movement and away from memories, shutting and locking the door behind her. She shrugged her coat from her shoulders, her hands sliding over the parts of her jacket that had been splashed with blood. It was sticky. Why was it so sticky?

  
 _Because it’s fresh,_ her mind answered her. Nao let the jacket fall into the sink. She looked up at the mirror again, forcing her focus on her clothing rather than on her face. Because of the chill of the weather outside, Nao had had the thing buttoned up to her chin—something she was now more than grateful for since the…since her dress was spotless. The same, however, could not be said for her hosiery. Hiking the skirt of her dress above her hips, Nao yanked the blood-soaked pantyhose down, wrapping the thin nylon into a tight ball and stuffing it into the pocket of her jacket.

  
The less presence she left in the bathroom the better. It was enough that her face was covered in blood, but to leave the bathroom looking like a crime scene would tip off the people who worked here.

  
Nao got to work with that idea in mind, wetting paper towels and cleaning her knees of residual bloodstains. She dabbed at the blood that had soaked into the fabric of her jacket, hoping it didn’t look too suspicious as she stuffed the evidence in the pockets. She’d dispose of them all latter. When she’d gotten to her arms, Nao slowed down from her frenzied pace.

  
In the heat of the moment while she’d been talking to Naki, her arm had become a second-nature pain, the newness of what Nishikawa had inflicted blending into the discomfort she had felt all day—and to a lesser extent, the last four years. Now that the adrenaline had fully worn off and she had a chance to catch her breath, she could see how much damage the man had caused.

  
Four angry red lines ran along her arm to her wrist. In some places the lines wept thinly, leaving small dried droplets on heavily scarred skin. The scaring marking where her forefinger used to be was a ruddy patch. Her hands shook as she gently ran water over the scratches, her fingers gentle as they rubbed away the dried blood.

  
She’d never been looked at that way before. Always she had been met with disgust and fear and mild, grotesque curiosity. Never had Nao seen jealousy. _Jealousy_ over what had been done to her. _Jealousy_ that _he_ wasn’t the one who had had the “honor”. And the look of severe _want_ to the same.

  
Water jumped out of the sink; her hands were spasmic, trembling. It wasn’t even about the hunger. About the need to eat his fill. Nishikawa had just _wanted_ to. He had _wanted_ to disfigure her to gain the same amount of personal interest another had done to her.

  
And the sheer _audacity_ he had to assume she had allowed it!

  
Nao felt the acid rise in her throat again. Dropping heavily to her knees, Nao clutched the rim of the toilet as she threw up. It burned—the nothingness inside her stomach. She dry-heaved anyway, more than nauseated over both Nishikawa’s death and his intent.

  
Hunger. Nao could understand hunger. But eating her because he wanted to copy someone else? It was disgusting. It was vile. _He was sick._ She sat back against the wall. Her tears had finally broken, trailing down her face in thick streaks. She wiped at them, the smears coming away red on her hand. _My face is still…_ she thought weakly. Nao wanted to cry. To _really_ cry. To shout and scream and let herself fall into the obscurity of reckless emotion. She deserved to, didn’t she? To let herself feel _everything_ , and let down the guards that made her strong when she felt weak? Nao could feel that wriggling feeling inside of her chest, growing beneath her ribs and on the verge of breaking fr—

  
“Nezzumicci?”

  
Nao jumped at the voice and its accompanied series of knocks against the door. She scrambled onto her knees, hands fumbling over the doorknob to make sure it was still locked.

  
“Nezzumicci, what the hell are you doing?! Your break ended twenty minutes ago!” her manager admonished her. Nao gaped at the amount of time that had passed. She knew that her break was over, but for that much time to have lapsed?

  
“I—I’m fine! I’m okay! I’m—“Nao broke off when her voice broke into a hiccup. “Just—Just don’t come in, please!” she begged. She turned a quick eye to the sink behind her stained with watered-down blood, and to the floor where her jacket lay with bloody paper towels sticking out of the pockets. Not to mention, of course, the blood she had yet to clean off her face and hands. Blood, blood, blood. It was _everywhere!_ “I—I just nuh-need a few more—” Her voice stuck around a lump in her throat. “A few more minutes,” she choked out.

  
“I’ve already given you fifteen,” he grumbled. After a brief pause, he added, “Kohana-san, what’s going on? You sound hysterical.”

  
_That’s because I am._

  
Nao’s mind felt empty of any and all excuses she could possibly give. She wiped a knuckle across her eyes; her tears hadn’t stopped and now her nose felt stuffy and wet. Could she even work like this? Nao didn’t think she could pull herself together enough in the next few minutes to properly entertain.

  
“I’m…I’m kind of going through something right now,” she called through the door. Nao pulled herself to her feet, her hand still tightly gripped around the doorknob in case he tried to open it. “ _Personal_ stuff,” she added, hoping he didn’t want her to elaborate.

  
Whatever thoughts had swum through his head seemed to work in her favor as he hesitated for a beat before stuttering out, “…oh…Oh! O-oh, _that_ kind of…personal…stuff.” He sounded embarrassed; Nao thanked god men were so awkward about menstrual cycles. “Um…do you—do you need me to get someone for you? I’m sure one of the girls has a um…a _thing_ for you.”

  
Nao cast another backward look at herself, doubting a tampon could fix the emotional and physical state she was in. “I…I would really just like to go home, if that’s all right. I’m just really emotional right now.”

  
“Really? You understand I can only pay you half for tonight, right?”

  
She bit her cheek but nodded. “Yes, I understand,” she replied, “Thank you.”

  
Nao waited, holding her breath until she was sure the manager was gone, listening very carefully for the shut of the door before she turned back to the mirror. The image she saw this time was much crueler than when she’d first walked in. The woman she now saw looked on the verge of having a meltdown.

  
|13|

  
After her manager had gone, she’d taken a few deep breaths to get her emotions back under control. Numbing herself to the point where she could work without fuss, she wiped away every single speck of blood—no matter how miniscule or insignificant—from both her person and the bathroom. After that, she’d quickly left, wasting no small amount of time collecting her purse from her locker and slipping outside.

  
She’d spared the back end of the alley a glance. The only trace of anything having happened there was a somewhat questionable blob of indistinguishable liquid she doubted anyone would care about to go and investigate. For a moment she’d wondered if Naki had remembered to pick up the head, and it had run across her mind to check.

  
Her body refused.

  
She’d turned away. Left the alley. The trip home from there was routine muscle memory with intermittent stops to throw away what was hidden in her pockets. When her fingers tapped against the small box, Nao recoiled from it. Left it alone, unopened and practically forgotten as she hastened to get home. The hour following was a vague recollection of showering and slipping into her pajamas. The material clung to her in an uncomfortable way. Her damp hair stuck to her face as she stared up at the ceiling.

  
Nao didn’t know if Naki would do what she’d asked. And if he didn’t, then she didn’t want to know. What she _did_ want to know was if he had followed her home. If he knew where home was, and how long he had known. If this was the first time Naki had done this. If Yamori had asked him to do this before. How long Yamori would be “busy”. She should have asked Naki while she’d had the chance.

  
 _Asking ghouls questions. Ghouls stalking me. Ghouls obsessing over me._ Nao sighed, unfolding her hands from her stomach. Reaching out blindly, Nao prodded the top of her nightstand for the taiyaki she’d bought on the way home on the spur of the moment. At the end of the day, after everything had happened, she hadn’t felt like spending what little energy she had left to cook. Not to mention of course that her fridge was nearly empty. She’d have to go shopping soon.

  
She sat up enough to avoid choking, eagerly digging her teeth into the fish-shaped treat. The taste of sweet potato flowed over her tongue, what little lingering heat there was warming her body. _When did I become so abnormal that ghouls harassing me is more tolerable that a man_ liking _me?_ She took another bite. _A man, huh?_

  
Nao had thought he was human for so long. Had never suspected otherwise. He’d been awkward, yes, and a little strange, but he’d never inclined he was something _other_ until tonight. He’d never harmed her. He’d never given the impression that he’d wanted something deeper. That he wanted to eat her. But that had never been his intention anyway, had it? Nishikawa liked her. Had asked for her exclusively and waited hours until she was free. He’d worried over her wellbeing. Over her connection to a gangster. He’d offered to help her in any way he could.

  
Because he’d loved her.

  
But Nao didn’t love him back. And because she didn’t, he’d tried to force a special bond by demanding a repeat of her trauma.

  
Nao returned the tail of the taiyaki to the nightstand before closing her eyes and curling onto her side. It was so much easier to imagine that the person she’d known Nishikawa as had been a fake. An act to lull her into complacency. But to think of him as anything but what she’d known was difficult, and she found herself disbelieving what had happened.

  
But she thought he was honest when in reality he’s been hiding. So…if she couldn’t fully believe yet that he was a monster, then what about Yamori? What about the man who had always been honest to her about what he wanted? About who he is?

  
_Maybe they’re just…people who eat people…_

  
Nao opened her eyes in a flash. She was overthinking it. Nishikawa had simply been love-struck, falling for an act Nao played with everyone else who requested her. An act that _everyone else_ who worked at the hostess bar did. He’d also just happened to be a ghoul. A ghoul who’d tried to hurt her. A ghoul who’d gotten what he’d deserved.

  
Right?

  
Nao squeezed her eyes shut, pulling the blanket over her head. Sleep. She needed to sleep. She needed to be unconscious before her emotions came back and made her feel _everything_ beyond the skin-deep layer of emotion that seeing death up close and personal brought. That _causing_ said death brought. Nao had to wait _just a little longer_ before she could let herself be vulnerable.

  
It wasn’t her fault. _Yamori_ was the one who had ordered Naki to follow her around. _Naki_ was the one who had killed him. _Nishikawa_ was the one who had grown obsessed. This wasn’t Nao’s fault. She didn’t kill him herself. She didn’t ask Naki to kill him. And she certainly _didn’t_ want him to die.

  
Nao burrowed further into her blankets, forming a tight ball. _So, why do I feel so guilty?_

  
The seeds had begun to sprout. Someone had died because of Nao.


	18. Chats 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nao has a nightmare and a half-way decent conversation with a psycho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see all comments and read all comments! I'm just too shy to interact~ I'll try to be more active in the comments.

_Dark. Dank. Muted colors swam before her, returning to a checkboard pattern. Monochromatic in spirit, this room was nothing but darkness, absent of light. Even the white blocks had ceased to be but a pale imitation of grey and brown and another color. A vibrant color. A shade that wavered between bedroom passions, lustful romance, and violence of a savage nature._

  
_Nao kept her eyes up off the stained checkerboard beneath her feet, her focus set on a man seated before her. He was leaning forward on his elbows, the points digging into his knees. He was abnormal, the man. His frame flickering between emaciation and massiveness. His hair never seeming to settle on either pitch black or white blond._

  
_She flicked her eyes to the lightbulb hanging above them, the light flashing as it swayed back and forth in an invisible breeze._

  
_“I didn’t ask you to do this.”_

  
_Nao jumped at the roughened sound as it tumbled from his lips. She swallowed thickly as the man lifted his chin up to glare at her with hate-filled eyes. She stared at him, not knowing what he was talking about. When she moved to ask, she was interrupted._

  
_“You think you were doing him a favor?”_

  
_This question came from behind her, the voice heavily masculine and dry; his words were a rasp. A bone snapped, the sound ricocheting around the room. Nao felt a shiver of cold run through her body, her muscles locking in place as she dared pry her eyes from the man before her._

  
_The second man was encased in shadow, his body near invisible in the back corner of the room. “Thought you might get something in return?” He held a hand up, running his thumb over the top of his index finger before he bent it forward. Another cool snap jumped around the room._

  
_“Was it too much to ask for?”_

  
_Another new voice. Smaller, smoother than the first two, and much sadder. Nao looked for the source, gooseflesh raising on her arms. In all four corners the room was dark, the mediocre light from the lightbulb doing nothing to fight off the encroaching darkness. As it was, she could barely make out the second man._

  
_“Did I not give you enough to get your attention?”_

  
_Nao’s lips trembled as she looked for an answer to give this unknown, unseen man. Before she could utter one up, however, the man in the chair gave a strangled cry, ending on a choked sob of pain. Nao looked back in time to find fresh wounds all over his body. Holes were drilled haphazardly across his bare chest and into the meat of his thighs. Blades had cut deep trenches into his flesh, and his shoulders were studded with sticks—stakes as black as pitch and stained with blood._

  
_Her hands flew up to cover her mouth—both out of shock and a reflexive instinct. What horror had gone on while she wasn’t looking? What had she willfully ignored as she paid attention to the other men?_

  
_“DON’T LOOK AT HIM!” the unseen man screamed. Nao whipped around to find a man with ruffled black hair standing in the corner opposite the shadowed man. His hands were balled into fists, his gritted teeth flashing dangerously. Nao watched him as he hunched over, his hair hanging in his face as he reached a shaking hand up to grip at his chest. A blot of red bloomed beneath the third man’s hand. “Can’t you see it hurts?” he asked her, softer and more heartbreaking than compared to his sudden, angered outburst. “Do you know how much it hurts to see you look at everyone else with that same look in your eyes?”_

  
_Nao stared at him, conflicted between her concern for the man in the chair and this man’s sorrow._

  
_“I…I’m sorry,” she murmured while not knowing at all what she had to apologize for._

  
_“’t’s not fair,” he whimpered. His hand, which had been clutching at his chest in an attempt to ease whatever pain was there, turned into a claw. His nails ripping at the fabric of his shirt and exposing a ragged hole in his torso. Nao stifled a shriek at the appearance of broken rib bones and vertebrae. The thing oozed black blood, and, in the corner, a reddish lump beat unevenly. “I GAVE YOU MY HEART AND YOU DID THIS TO ME!” he roared, his eyes turning black and red and flashing menacingly._

  
_Her face drained of blood. She took a step back, fearing his rage._

  
_“Why wouldn’t she?” the raspy-voiced man asked, “She got attached to a different human-eating monster.” He laughed, underlying anger edging his words. Ice ran through her, her body shaking as she tried to catch her breath, as she hyperventilated. Nao couldn’t take her eyes off the gaping hole, the shadowed man’s words on the periphery of her attention. She didn’t even hear him approach. Did not even notice until his dry lips were pressed against the shell of her ear, his hands leaving bruises where he grasped her shoulders._ _“You’ve probably been fucking him every time you’ve been in here, too.”_

  
_He turned her around, tossing her to the floor behind him. Nao stumbled, her knees cracking against the floor as she fell at the seated man’s feet. Her hands skidded on slickness as she tried to catch herself. Blood fell from the man in thick rivulets, running from his back and his arms, down his bare legs to collect beneath feet devoid of toes. The pool widened the longer Nao stared. Behind her she heard more profanity and curses thrown at her back before it divulged into more screaming. She shook on the floor, terrified of looking back._

  
_“Pathetic,” she heard the seated man growl, his voice deep and roughened by torture._

  
_“Are you afraid, Nao-chan?” the shadowed man asked. Nao kept her eyes on the man in the chair, a sinking feeling in her gut. The sort that said: “If I take my eyes off him, I’ll die. If I look back, I’ll regret it.” Despite this feeling—this warning—however, Nao felt sure she couldn't have even if she tried. In the span of a mere second his eyes had flooded to hollow black, as empty as a hole in space before a blood-red glimmer shone through the depths._

  
_Nao didn’t answer the man’s question. Couldn’t. Found no point in it. Not simply because it’d been rhetorical, or because it was logical that the only emotion Nao should feel at that point was fear—the kind that made children weep and grown men piss their pants. Nao did not answer because she was not sure if the man had meant for her to be afraid of the ghoul in the chair, or himself._

  
_As if he had heard her thoughts, the man behind her tutted in disappointment. “Stupid girl. Do you want to save them? Fat lot of good it did him, huh?” As he talked the man—the ghoul, the monster—stood up. Nao watched wordlessly, her eyes darting over the wounds and scars marring his body. Lingering over the flesh cut out of his side and stomach and skimming quickly over his groin down to the drilled holes in his thighs. Naked, save for the blood covering his body. Nao felt a hot wash of embarrassment crawl up her neck, flushing her face red._

  
_“Didn’t do much for this one though, did ya?” Nao’s eyes jumped to the ground as the shadowed man threw something at her. Something vaguely ball shaped. Nao quickly realized it was the third man’s head. It bounced as it hit the floor, leaving a blot of blood as it rolled to a stop beside her. Nao fell back, kicking herself away from it as she scrabbled backwards on her hands._

  
_“They’re_ ghouls _,” he continued, sneering as the bloody man knelt in front of her. The shadowed man was beginning to fade into the periphery, his voice waning as the ghoul observed her. “The only thing you can do for them—” The ghoul’s prior hatred smoothed to something not unfriendly. Something Nao could not quite decipher as he offered her a shadow of a disarming smile. “—is_ feed _them.”_

  
_Nao gasped as fire roared up her arm. She let out an anguished cry, falling to her side as she curled her body over the appendage. The fire gave way to a pulsating and sharp ache. Blinking through crystalline tears Nao gingerly pushed her sleeve up, revealing to warm, acrid air—rather than flickers of flame and blackened flesh—blood and bone and shredded muscle._

  
_A sob stuck in her throat, tearing at her esophagus as she curled up further, her forehead touching her knees as she wept through the pain. Not understanding why or how it had happened._

  
_Completely forgetting the ghoul kneeling beside her until he grasped her ankle in a crushing grip and pulled her straight. Nao laid on her back, her ruined left arm staining her blouse red while above her the ghoul crouched, holding her down with a light hand to her collarbone. Nao looked to the other side of her where the third man’s head lay forgotten. Dead eyes stared at her, wide open in anger. Despite the stillness of the body part, every inch of his frozen visage was—rather than slack or peaceful or full of pain—contorted with rage. From the snarl shaping his mouth, Nao could hear him saying:_ “You got me killed! Do you even care?!”

  
_Nao closed her eyes against the image, turning her attention back to the ghoul pinning her to the ground. Her heart beat erratically in her chest as he stared her down, his thin lips spreading to reveal a predatory grin. Slowly, lethargically, he moved above her, straddling her legs as he leaned his face closer. Nao lay frozen, completely still as warm breath fanned her face. His mouth skimmed down her cheek, his nose pressing against the base of her throat before he traveled up to her ear. “Relax, Nao,” he ordered her in a whisper as soft as a lover’s caress._

  
_Nao gasped as his lips closed over hers in a bruising kiss. More tears tracked down from her eyes and into her hair as blood began to fill her mouth._

* * *

Nao woke with a shudder; great heaving breaths escaping her lungs. Sweat drenched her body, dampening the sheets. Prior experience gave her that hint of iron in her mouth, making her nightmare even more realistic and terrifying. When she moved to sit up, she found that the blankets had bunched and twisted around her legs.

  
She laid back, staying perfectly still as her heart continued to drum against her rib cage. Trying to process what she’d seen while being perturbed by what her mind had conjured up.

  
It didn’t take long to realize that what she’d dreamt was her guilt.

  
|13|

  
In Nao’s experience, after her father had died the world had felt a little off-balance. Incomplete. Different in a way that was unnoticeable before his absence—like how often she really saw him, or how much she depended on his presence to know what she should be doing at a certain time.

  
Nao didn’t have the expectation of it being somewhat similar with Nishikawa. Her father was…her father, while Nishikawa had been a stalker with a crush. Someone she’d seen once or twice on a weekly basis. If she were cruel, she’d say that in the long run, Nishikawa had meant nothing to her. But it would be a lie. Before he’d shown his true colors, Nishikawa had been nice to her. Genuine in a way that Matsuru or Kazuo could only pretend at. Nao lamented that that part of him had been easily swayed by something more brutal and all-consuming. Terrifying in an unknown way.

  
Nao held no expectations that first day. She’d made her breakfast—substituting toast for the last bit of taiyaki. She’d walked to work—all the while avoiding sticking her hands in her coat pockets despite the frost. And she’d gotten through the day with barely any incidents. All the while her mood had been soured by her dream, her emotions numb as she attempted to appear normal despite the clamoring in her head screaming: “You caused someone to die.”

  
Throughout the day, Nao had worked to ignore it. A false smile plastered on her face whenever someone came close—save for Matsuru since he didn’t need any mixed signals. When the workday had ended, however, and it came time to go to the hostess bar…her feet had frozen once the neon sign had come into view. Her stomach roiled at the thought of going closer, and her mind had temporarily blanked. When she came back to herself, she was walking away, her cell phone in her hand as she called in sick.

  
This routine repeated itself twice more, her nightmare repeating and unrelenting in reminding her of the part she’d played, until she was forced to come back under threat of “not fulfilling her contract”. And so it was that Nao found herself back in the hostess bar, looking for the tiny absence Nishikawa had left behind. She took in the wrap-around couches and loveseats occupied by glittering women and beaming men. Breathed in the slight acidic smell of alcohol and the various intermingling scents of perfume and cologne. She thought that here, at the very least, something would feel amiss. That his absence would be glaringly obvious like a sore thumb. But try as she might, Nao could see that nothing had changed. Least of all the mannerisms she adopted once her shift started. But, how could they? Nishikawa, Naki, all that blood…They felt like a dream. A terrible, terrible dream that had evolved into a nightmare.

  
“Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing?!”

  
Nao’s attention flashed to the man laughing beside her—a regular for the past few weeks. Her smile—demure and sweet—slid into place. “It certainly is Satou-san,” she parroted back. He reflected it five-fold before launching into another train of thought. Nao listened for a bit before her mind began to wander again.

  
Earlier on, years back when her hand was still healing, Nao had tried harder at her job. She’d tried to smile and laugh adoringly like Misa. To share some common ground with her clients and continue the conversation from her own point of view to give them as much stimulus as they’d paid for. She had found soon after that it was all pointless. They didn’t care about her attempt to understand where they were coming from. They didn’t care about her answers to their questions. They didn’t care about her opinion—listening with half an ear as they sipped their scotch and glanced around the room. They didn’t care. So, neither did she.

  
Was that wrong?

  
A _clunk-unk_ brought her mind back to the forefront. Satou didn’t seem to notice her vacancy as he directed his attention to Minatsuki. His eyes lingering on the exposed cleavage of her dress as she bent to set down a small glass beside the bottle of sake she’d brought. He didn’t bother to disguise his disappointment when Minatsuki stood and turned to leave—a pair of baggy jeans obstructed the view of her ass beneath her minidress.

  
Nao choked back a smirk. It was clever, dressing up the only part the customers could see if she stayed behind the bar—and then stepping out in well-worn jeans and tennis shoes.

  
With Satou’s attention diverted, Nao glanced towards a booth along the wall. Where Minatsuki preferred to blend her style into her job, Misa chose to dive in head-first. Tiny sequins were sewn into the bodice of her cocktail dress, the hem of her skirt spread around her exposing her thighs. Her client seemed to appreciate it deeply with how much his eyes dropped to her lap. Despite her beautiful features, Nao knew for a fact that it took the woman an hour-and-a-half in front of a mirror and a dozen different products to achieve the perfect appearance of an “understated beauty”. She took the title of “hostess” and ran with it; she worked hard at it. Her smiles were dazzling, she knew the cues of when to laugh and when to ask follow-up questions. She let the client fall in love with her and let them know where the line was without speaking. Without making them feel unwanted. Despite her exuberance she never made it seem like she was faking it. All-in-all, Misa loved her job.

  
If she had copied Misa to a T, would things have played out how they did? Would Nishikawa have been fulfilled enough during their sessions to avoid seeking her out outside them? Or would he have been led on even more by her, convinced so thoroughly that she reciprocated his affections. Maybe it didn’t matter whatever she did. If she’d acted as herself, or more like Misa; being the perfect hostess or the most passing one. Maybe there had been no avoiding the ultimate outcome.

  
As if sensing her stare, Misa glanced away from her client. Nao could practically feel the cold air from outside on her skin as Misa’s smile dimmed; her eyes deadened the moment they landed on Nao. Her client didn’t seem to notice the change in Misa’s demeanor, her usual perkiness flaring back to life the instant she took her eyes off Nao.

  
She bit back a grimace, trying not to let her simple smile disappear under Satou’s eye. She could understand the continued cold shoulder—it _had_ been the most mysterious bottle of wine either of them had ever seen—but it didn’t make it any less lonely. Or annoying, considering the bottle had been filled with old blood rather than old grapes.

  
_She’ll get over it; we’ll move on. I can’t apologize more than I have already._

  
Her stomach turned as another waft of alcohol blew past her nose. Once the hour with Satou was done, she’d quickly go to the locker room and choke down a Motrin to get rid of this sick feeling. Nao returned to her one-sided conversation, humming thoughtfully as Satou talked about a coworker. Or…was it his son-in-law? Whichever it was, Nao said plainly—when he gave the opportunity to speak— “I’m sure it will get better soon, Satou-san.”

  
Her concern was fake; his pleasure was real.

  
Did this make her a bad person? Nao wanted to think it didn’t—but of course, she was biased.

  
“Sir! _Sir_ , I’m afraid you have to wait until she’s free,” she heard the manager, Shinichi, say, clearly exasperated with whomever he was talking to. Nao paid them no mind; Misa was so popular that this happened twice a week. A customer would have the bad fortune of either arriving too late and missing his timeslot with Misa, or too early and being forced to wait at the bar. It was rather lucrative if the latter happened since they would “just have to” wait at the bar, and maybe order a drink or two whil—

  
“If I’m here, then she’s free.”

  
Nao felt every bone in her body lock into place, her eyes widening with shock and incredulity. She must have misheard him, right? Because that voice couldn’t _possibly_ be the low rumbling purr of Yamori’s own. Because that couldn’t _possibly_ be Yamori who was standing just behind the small seat she was perched on, his body casting a very dark shadow over her client. Because he couldn’t _possibly_ be here in the place where he’d promised not to be. While she sat in stunned silence, Satou turned a wary eye to the man next to them.

  
“I paid good money to have an _undisturbed_ hour,” Satou said to Shinichi, though his eyes stayed glued to the man beside them—Nao refused to believe that it was Yamori, even as she felt his gaze burning a hole through her. Nao kept hers on Satou, watching a vein on his balding head bulge in anger, while his Adam’s apple bobbed with uncertainty. Little beads of sweat started at his temple.

  
“I’m terribly sorry for the disturbance, Satou-san,” Shinichi said. Nao could practically hear him bow apologetically. “Sir, she’ll be free in twenty minutes,” he said to the man. He sounded anxious, even as he regarded him with some amount of respect.

  
The man ignored him. “Does he know?” he asked her. Nao bit back the urge to look at him. “Does he know you’re a black widow?” The comment got her attention. Very reluctantly, Nao turned her head to glance up at the massive ghoul, her stare withering.

  
The bastard smiled back.

  
Without looking at him, Nao said, “Satou-san, I think you’d be very happy with Ame-chan.” At his sputtering, Nao gave him a cute smile. “Of course, your drink will be comped for the trouble this caused you. And I hope to see you again the next time you come to play, Satou-san.” He grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek before eventually nodding his concede. He was slow in his movements, however; his own personal rebellion against the man who had robbed him of his last twenty minutes with Nezumicchi. 

  
Shinichi breathed a small sigh of relief, issuing Nao a small nod of gratitude behind Satou’s back as he directed the man to a petite woman with black hair. “You have one hour with Nezumicchi, sir,” he told Yamori. His brows were drawn together in some concern—no doubt because Yamori had caused such a hassle. His trepidation remained even as he left soon after, retaking his position by the door, glancing back at them once or twice. Nao watched him go before sliding her eyes back to Yamori. Her smile slipped from her face.

  
“That wasn’t funny,” she told him. Yamori tilted his head, his smile deepening. Nao waved a dismissive hand to the seat Satou had vacated. “You paid for an hour. Are you going to spend it standing?” she asked.

  
Yamori slid his hand onto her shoulder, his thumb rubbing over her collar bone while his fingers spanned along her back. “Let’s find somewhere private we can talk.” Nao looked from his hand to the seat beside her to the room surrounding them. She couldn’t decide if he truly wanted to sit somewhere that wasn’t the middle of the room, or if he wanted to find a seat where they could sit more comfortably in. Yamori let his hand fall away as she stood up; smoothing out the skirt of her dress as she did.

  
She turned partially to him, raising her hand in the direction of an empty booth in the corner. “Right this way, sir,” Nao said, flashing him a bright smile before she turned and walked off. She made sure to keep in the forefront of her mind that while Yamori was here, she would need to keep up the act she played for appearance’s sake. What vexed her, however, was that she had play the act with _Yamori_ , who’d see through her performance and take enjoyment from the knowledge that she had to. Nao bit back a frown, attempting an expression of neutrality as she weaved around seats and people and waited while Yamori slid into the booth. Nao sat beside him, sure to keep at least a foot of space between them.

  
Given that it was a booth, she could have opted to sit on the other side of the knee-high table before them. But that would have been suspicious. Not to mention that it would give weight to her fear.

  
Putting that matter aside, Nao informed him, “You promised you wouldn’t come here.”

  
“Are you surprised?” he asked, giving her a slight derisive sneer. As if he thought she knew better.

  
Nao gritted her teeth but conceded his point. “…I guess not,” she said, “So, why are you here now?” She knew the answer—dreaded it even—but wanted to hear it anyway. Yamori was…an unavoidable force of nature. Avoiding him was nigh impossible, because he would always find her. He’d escaped prison, she’d left the ward, and they’d still managed to run into each other on a random street three years later.

  
“You’ve been dodging my calls,” Yamori replied.

  
Out of shame she looked away. Over the past few days he’d called her a small handful of times. Not enough to call it obsessive, but he’d made it clear he wanted to talk. She’d sent him to voicemail every time, certain that he’d show his face sooner or later—something she had equally dreaded. She couldn’t tell what embarrassed her more, that she’d chosen to ignore him like a child or that she couldn’t look at him without being reminded of her stupid nightmare. 

  
_This_ was the true nightmare. That rather than being afraid of him because he’s a monster, she’s afraid of seeing him as a man.

  
“You usually show up at my doorstep, what stopped you this time?” Nao said, murmuring quietly les someone overhears. Even if the person was paying for the time, it was one of the rules of the bar: no personal connections to the customers. Jealous lovers and husbands made for bad clientele considering they’d tie up the women’s time and shut down any opportunity to bring in more customers. The clients liked to believe they had the women all to themselves. Sharing broke that illusion, hence why Satou had been upset. “Naki said you’ve been busy, what are you busy with?”

  
He frowned. Nao waited. Yamori turned away from her, surveying the room and ignoring her inquiry. Nao leaned back against the seat, sighing. Getting answers out of him was a tricky game, because unless he felt like answering, he gave away nothing. Nothing for free anyway. Crossing her arms against her stomach, she turned to do the same.

  
As usual it was lively. The low lighting of the bar making the place cozy rather than crowded; an atmosphere rife with the sensation of a romantic date in a secluded place. It set her on edge. “What is it you do here?” Yamori suddenly asked her. He crossed his leg over his knee, brushing against her. Nao shifted away, losing her composure as she blurted out,

  
“I smile and nod and make them feel important. And I spend hours and hours masking how bored I am.”

  
She heard a small huff of laughter and looked to find that Yamori had turned back to face her. There was a slight curve to his mouth, and his eyes were hooded with amusement. Flustered, she ended up running her mouth trying to justify herself. “I’ve owed money to a group of Yakuza for the last eight years and counting, I’ve become acquaintances with the most blood-thirsty ghoul in the Thirteenth Ward, and I’m scheduled to die in nine months. As if I care that they got passed up for a promotion or that their wives are nagging them too much.”

  
He’d raised a brow when she’d said ‘acquaintances’, but aside from that, his amusement at her remained the same. “If they heard you, they’d be disappointed in their precious “Nezumicchi”,” Yamori remarked.

  
“Well, I’m not a cute little mouse anyway, right?” she asked, his good mood affecting her in the opposite way, “According to you, I’m a black widow.” Nao let her arms slip from her lap to the plush leather beneath her. Her hands balled into fists, gripping at nothing as she asked, “Naki…Naki told you right? About…what happened?”

  
He didn’t say anything. Nao moved to repeat her question when a figure out of the corner of her eye startled her. Minatsuki carefully set down a reddish-greenish wine bottle on the low table. From her silver tray she placed a single wine glass beside it, along with a corkscrew. When she was done, she straightened, her attention fully on Nao making it clear she was ignoring the large ghoul sitting beside her. For a fleeting second Nao wondered how Minatsuki knew Yamori was a ghoul, but the second quickly passed. “Nezumicchi, would you like some water?” she asked, her face belying any concern she might feel.

  
“Yes. _Please,_ ” she hastened to say. Minatsuki’s eyes dipped down to Nao’s lap where her hands had unconsciously clasped together. She unknotted them, laying one on top of the other to mask the slight jittering of her nerves. The woman said nothing; she tucked the tray beneath her arm and gave them a small bow before moving on to the next customer. Nao felt her shoulders loosen the further Minatsuki walked away.

  
“He said enough.”

  
Nao looked back at him. Yamori had uncrossed his leg to grab the corkscrew from the table and was removing the cork with an expert hand. Despite the low murmuring buzz of the bar, the pop! sounded deafening to her ears. For a moment the scene felt surreal, like she was living inside of a picture. Misa and Nao had seen this scene so often; mocked it, were jealous of it, wanted to also have a glass for themselves. To have one of those bottles delivered to their customer, and to know that for whatever reason, the person beside them was special, and to taste the wine Minatsuki kept under lock and key.

  
Misa had lived it several times before and been denied at each turn when she’d asked for a sip. And now that Nao was finally in the picture…she felt sick. Because unlike everyone else who wanted a glass and been turned away, Nao knew that the picture was a fraud. That nothing in it was real. That the man wasn’t a man, and the wine wasn’t wine.

  
Blood flowed quickly from the bottle, filling the glass with viscous, red fluid until it was nearly touching the rim. Nao felt repulsion ripple through her. Yamori’s lips twitched watching her.

  
“I told you not to piss off ghouls,” he reminded her, his voice pitched low.

  
“I—!” Nao caught herself, her fear of being heard overwhelming her alarm. “ _I didn’t piss him off,_ ” she hissed, her teeth grinding as Yamori picked up the glass and began to drink deeply; his throat bobbed with each swallow. “He wanted me. He was…heartsick over me!” Nao continued, her hands fluttering in the animated way frustrated people with no other physical output could do. She caught herself immediately, slamming her palms against the cushion beneath her and digging her nails into the leather. “ _He was crazy!_ ” she seethed. 

  
Yamori lowered his glass, his teeth showing as his mouth bent further into a twisted smile. “And you kept egging him on, didn’t you?”

  
Nao froze at the accusation. “That…That wasn’t my fault,” she stammered, frowning. The hostess smile she kept in place for six hours a night had long since fled, locked back in its box as she reverted to her normal self. “I-I was just—”

  
“Doing your job?” Yamori filled in for her. He barked out a laugh; short and bitter and cruel. “You’re _always_ just ‘doing your job’ aren’t you?” he scoffed. “And you wonder why your life is shit.”

  
It was a low blow. Cheap, underhanded, and a completely assholic thing to say because it called to mind every terrible thing Nao had ever done because she had to. She had to. She didn’t have the option nor the luxury of backing out, of saying no. She didn’t…

  
But did she?

  
 _Did_ she have to? Did she have to take a job lavishing false affection? Did she have to put up with the Interrogator? _Could_ she have ignored him? Taken the excuse of him being a complete and total psycho to steer clear of that room all together? The guards wouldn’t have cared; the warden might have understood her trepidation. None of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have been called to that room over and over. She’d never have met Yamori. And she _certainly_ wouldn’t be sitting here talking to him.

  
But then that begged the question…would she still be sitting here, if not for Yamori?

  
Nao had no doubt in her mind, whatever her convictions might have been in some alternate universe where she never met Yamori, she still would have wound up working at the bar. The favor of a friend who wanted to help her make ends meet. She still would have ended up meeting Nishikawa. And in that alternate universe, there was no Naki to save her from being roped into Nishikawa’s fantasy.

  
In the moment of silence Nao took to ruminate on her choices in life, Yamori tipped his head back to collect the dregs of the blood wine. He set the glass aside, leaving it empty for the moment as he shifted closer to Nao. Her body tensed on reflex. Nao felt his fingertips on her cheek. A dull tingle following the line he drew down to the point of her chin. 

  
“So, what are you more upset about?” Yamori asked her slowly, tipping her face up. Nao refocused on him. He was too close. “That someone died because of you—” Nao’s jaw tightened, “—or that you won’t be getting his money anymore?”

  
Nao turned her face away from him, away from the bar, to stare coldly at the inside corner of their booth. She hadn’t thought about the money—and for that she could be proud. But his death? Nao was upset that someone had died. Upset that she had seen it and that she maybe had caused it. But _his_ death? _Nishikawa’s_ death?

  
“His disappearance…” Nao began. She stopped to collect her thoughts. Yamori poured himself another glass—this one more moderate than the first. “I thought... I thought it would be more obvious in the world.”

She heard him scoff before he chided her. “The world’s been here thousands of years, and millions of people have died without you even knowing who they were.” He punctuated his statement with an abrasive thud as he set down the bottle. He turned a glaring eye on her. “Why would it be different for _him?_ ”

Nao wanted to say that it was different because she’d known who he was but could not bring herself to make the distinction. Especially not when he gave her such a dirty look. While normally Nao would take pride in shaking his amusement, turning his smile into a frown, she was too affected by the sudden turn in emotion. “I thought it’d be obvious in _my_ world,” she clarified softly, honestly.

  
The angered slash of his mouth lightened until neither frown nor smile was prevalent on his face. His red eyes lost their hostile glint. “So how do you actually feel?” he asked.

  
There was a clear difference between Nishikawa and Yamori in how they reacted to her. Where Nishikawa had tried to put forth a positive atmosphere, smothering any displeasure he’d had until it had built up, Yamori showed what he felt more freely, despite the games he played with her. In their jealousy as well, Nishikawa had been desperate, bordering on obsessive, whereas Yamori was possessive. Jealousy itself was a dangerous emotion, but Nao was unsure which type was more treacherous. Maybe they both were equally.

  
So…how did she feel? 

  
“…relieved,” she confessed after a brief hesitation, noting the slight slackening in his shoulders. “He scared me, and I’m relieved he’s gone. That I don’t have to deal with him anymore.” Yamori’s mouth remained a grim line, but his eyes had narrowed imperceptibly. “Does that make me a terrible person?” Nao hadn’t meant it as anything other than conversational. So why did it feel like she was hoping he’d say no?

  
Yamori stared at her for a long moment before he turned his gaze to the glass of wine. “You don’t have to think about him anymore,” he informed her, picking up the glass, “He’s been disposed of.”

  
Nao’s nose wrinkled at that. “Forgive me if I continue to have nightmares over the sight of a head getting chopped off,” she groused.

  
“You’ve seen worse.”

  
She arched her brow, her mouth slanting into a sneer. “How would you know?”

  
“You’ve seen me, and others like me,” He didn’t look at her as he said this. His attention otherwise divided between her and the wine and giving her the impression that they had moved on to a somewhat lighter topic. However morbid and heavy said topic was. “Which is worse: instant death, or prolonged torture?”

  
Nao relaxed back against the seat, releasing the grip she’d held on the plush material. “…They’re both terrible options,” she murmured, watching dazedly as he drank the wine. She wondered idly if this was how the myth of vampires got started. Someone else had discovered the secret of fermented blood and started a rumor about posh noblemen drinking people dry. Yamori isn’t a posh nobleman by any means if rumors were to be believed about his victims, but he held a sort of dignity. An outer calmness belying his savage nature. “This isn’t a contest for who had it worse.”

  
He gave her a shrug, his tongue sweeping along his upper lip to catch a bead of blood. An inane thought crossed her mind of which type he preferred. O-negative, or AB-positive? She stifled the slight upturn of her lips, biting the inside of her cheek. The previous conversation had warranted no smiles, and neither would she deign to give him one that was genuine.

  
Yamori glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, lowering the glass.

  
“How did you treat him,” he inquired.

  
Nao raised a brow at the question. “Like I normally do,” she replied.

  
“How?” Yamori pressed, setting down the glass. 

  
Nao sighed, biting the inside of her cheek. Was he going to use whatever she said against her? Hammer it in harder that her flirting had led to his death? “I smiled. I gave him compliments. Listened to him talk,” she listed off, absentmindedly tapping her knee as she said each one. Yamori’s eyes had dipped down to watch the movement before he slid them back up to her face. “That’s…pretty much all of what I do here. Nothing too intimate,” Nao said. She braced herself for the insult. For the affirmation of her fears. When Yamori tipped his head to the side and gave her a lazy smile, she was sure it was coming.

  
And then he floored her.

  
“Show me,” he requested.

  
Nao gave him a blank stare. “Show you what?” she asked him.

  
“Show me how you seduce men.”

  
“I—um…” Nao wriggled in her seat, her fingers twisting around themselves. It wasn’t what she’d expected, but this was the affirmation of her fears. “I…already told you what I do here,” she told him slowly.

  
“Show me what you would do if you were actually interested.”

  
Nao was slow in her response, her hands stilling as the full meaning hit her. “…You want me to try and seduce you?” she asked, her voice quiet as though if she were to speak any louder everyone might hear.

  
Yamori slid closer to her. Nao held as still as she possibly could as his arm snaked around her body. She felt _wrong_. Her back felt cold where his arm pressed against her, caught between her spine and the booth seat, while her shoulder was on fire where Yamori’s hand rested against her bare skin. “What if your only choice was to seduce me?” he asked her, his voice dropping several octaves. “Make me want you so much that killing you is no longer possible?” Nao kept her eyes down, locked on the white pant leg pressed against her thigh. “All you’d have to do is let me fuck you, and you’d be able to keep on living.”

  
She swallowed thickly; her nails curled into her palms on her lap. “What kind of life would that be?” Nao looked up at him. “To live as someone’s whore for as long as he was interested, and hope he dies before I do?”

  
His hand left her shoulder, coming up to palm the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her short locks; her scalp tingled where his nails lightly scratched her. Nao felt her face heat at the touch. She was so used to him being rough with her that this gentle touch threw her off. “You told me how long it’s been for you,” Yamori said, “What’s wrong with indulging yourself before you die?”

  
Nao worked her jaw, unsure of what to say. She’d dropped her gaze the moment he had moved his hand into her hair, hiding her face from him as best she could. Yamori was making her nervous. The worst thing was that she wasn’t sure if it was because of him or because of her nightmare. The one thing she could not figure out was why he had been nude. She could understand the set-up, the scenery. She knew why those specific people where there—why _Yamori_ was there. What she didn’t understand was why it happened like _that_.

  
Her nerves beginning to fray, Nao reaffirmed something she’d said months prior. “I told you I wouldn’t prostitute myself.”

  
“And you wouldn’t,” Yamori replied, his voice smooth and his answer quick, as if he knew what’d she’d say. “You’d only be _allowing_ me to slake that hunger inside you.” He moved his hand away from her head, his fingertips tracing an imaginary line down her spine, along her side until his hand curled around her hip. Nao felt goosebumps raise along her flesh, a warm pool swirling in her gut while her lungs felt weighed down.

  
They _had_ to be weighed down, why else would her breathing feel so shallow.

  
He pressed closer, his chest against her shoulder as he leaned down to nuzzle at her ear. “Ease that pressure lover boy built,” he rumbled. Her stomach twisted, a small spike of frustration at the memory of a half-baked love affair making her frown. “Soothe that burn between your thighs until that pleasure breaks and you beg me to do it again and again. Let me do the one thing lover boy couldn’t: _get. You. Off._ ”

  
Yamori smiled against her ear as Nao swallowed shakily.

  
Matsuru had been good. He _had_ been. Until he’d started to favor the wait over the actual meal. Had enjoyed whipping her into a frenzy without delivering any of what he’d promised. Without making her “see stars”. And now months later she was paying for it; the aftereffects of a frustrated abstinence. Her legs felt jittery, her body felt sensitive, and it felt like all the warmth in her body was pooling in her core.

  
This wasn’t… _appropriate_. His touch… She wasn’t supposed to feel like this at work. Nao wasn’t supposed to feel _anything_ like this towards _Yamori_ of all people.

  
Involuntarily, she shook her head.

  
Yamori eased away from her, his hand stuck to her hip. “It’s just sex,” he murmured.

  
Nao bit the inside of her cheek. She looked up, noting first the indiscriminate line of his mouth before she said softly, “I’m…afraid to look at you in that way.”

  
He quirked a brow. “And what way is that?”

  
Nao was hesitant in her answer but did not look away from him as she replied, “As a man. And not as a monster.”

  
Yamori’s mouth curled at the edge in a facsimile of a smile. “I’m both.”

  
Nao held his gaze, unamused. He shifted his eye away from her. Her shoulders twitched at the sound of Minatsuki’s unexpected voice.

  
“Sorry for the wait, Nezumicchi.”

  
She lowered her eyes, turning her face away from Yamori. She murmured a ‘thank you’, reaching for the glass of water Minatsuki had placed on the low table. Over her head, Minatsuki nodded to the bottle of wine. “I trust the _vintage_ is to your liking, sir?” Minatsuki asked Yamori. Nao nearly choked on her water. The emphasis she had used, the directness. She put a hand up to her mouth to collect any spilled droplets, looking up at Minatsuki as she did. Minatsuki raised a brow at her, more curious of the intimate display Nao had somehow wrapped herself into rather than her choking hazard.

  
Nao felt a tug on her hip. She let herself fall against Yamori’s chest; her hands clasped tightly around the glass of water. “It’s adequate. But…there’s another I wish to try.” Nao could feel Yamori’s voice rumble through his chest, the sensation otherwise pleasant if not for the implied suggestion of making her blood into wine. Maybe that was one of the things he had in store for her once their deal was done.

  
There was a brief pause following his statement. Nao glanced at Minatsuki out of the corner of her eye. She had lost the bored look in her eye, her brows drawn down in mild challenge. Nao didn’t know if Minatsuki liked her job, or even if she had a favorite part of it. Usually she looked down-right bored by everything that happened around her here. So, to see her take such a sudden interest in a discussion of wine with a customer spoke of a wrongness that confirmed everything Nao suspected of Minatsuki’s involvement.

  
“…I’m afraid _that one_ won’t be available to you, sir,” she replied, a hard edge to her voice. “The time is almost up, sir. I suggest you wrap things up.” Minatsuki shot Nao a glance before turning on her heel and walking away. Nao stared after her, stunned. Apparently, there had been a small part of her that had doubted Minatsuki’s knowledge of the wine. However, with this strange exchange that small part had shriveled up and died immediately.

  
“Tell me honestly,” Nao heard herself demand, her focus otherwise completely on the barista as she slid behind the bar counter, “Is she a ghoul?”

  
Nao felt his hand leave her side, felt his body heat dissipate as he moved away. “None of your coworkers are ghouls,” Yamori murmured. The spell was broken, the mood ruined by Minatsuki’s presence, and for that Nao was glad. The things he had said, the way he had acted. Nao was so used to his callousness. His casual indifference and his anger. She’d been completely caught off guard by his sudden interest in sex.

  
She tore her eyes away from Minatsuki to look him over—just to be sure that the topic was done with.

  
In her distraction he’d refilled his wine glass, his body slumped as he propped himself up with his elbow against his knee. She raked her eyes over his face, taking in finer details she hadn’t noticed even when it had been no less than half-a-foot in front of her nose. His jaw looked tight, and there was a slight shadow beneath his eyes—barely imperceptible in the low lighting of the bar. His body was tense although his posture suggested otherwise. He looked a little tired, maybe even aggravated.

  
Good. Then maybe he knew a tenth of what she’d experienced the last six months.

  
Still though…

  
“You never told me what it is you’re doing,” Nao began quietly. He didn’t look at her as he brought the wine glass to his lips and started to drink heavily again. She wondered if he’d even heard her. Without thinking, she reached out a hand to touch his knee. Yamori lowered his glass immediately, looking first to her hand and then over at Nao. There was a touch of surprise in the curiosity of his gaze. Nao felt shock herself. When was the last time she had voluntarily touched Yamori? Weeks? Months? Four years ago…

  
She shook it off, carefully retracting her hand as she asked instead, “Whatever you’re busy with…is it entertaining?” As far as Nao knew, the only reason Yamori did anything was either out of fun or general interest. The only reason he’d come to her workplace was because he probably thought it was fun to irritate her in public. The only reason he’d bothered to at all was probably because he had a general interest in her.

  
His lips curled in a half smile before dripping back into a frown. He set down his glass; there was nearly an inch of the liquid left.

  
“How often do you leave this Ward?” he asked her.

  
Nao disguised the bit of disappointment she felt at not having this question answered either by pursing her lips and pretending to think on the question. “I go to clubs in other Wards once in a while with friends,” she replied, “And I guess to the Thirteenth if I need to see you.”

  
“Stay out of the Eleventh. It’s not safe.”

  
She raised a brow and gave him a deadpanned look. “Any place _you’re_ in isn’t safe,” she retorted dryly.

  
He cracked another grin, saying nothing as he stood. Nao stood as well, inching out of the booth to let him out.

  
“I’ll have you meet Naki some time later,” Yamori stated, tugging at his cuffs and the hem of his suit jacket to straighten out the fabric.

  
“Will he still be following me in the meantime?” Nao asked.

  
He gave her a smirk. “Only when I order it.”

  
She scowled, looking away from him. Movement by the door caught her attention; the manager was leaving his post. While his gait was even, unhurried as he walked and giving off an air that he was simply making sure everyone was having a good time, he seemed to be making a bee line for the corner Nao and Yamori still occupied.

  
“One last thing,” Nao heard Yamori say. She bristled when she felt Yamori’s lips brush the shell of her ear. She caught the falter in the manager’s steps. “ _Your boss is the ghoul,_ ” he whispered. As quickly as he’d said it, he walked off, not bothering to bid her goodbye. He walked without pausing as he passed the manager, though the manager slowed to issue him a cold look, a glare, before shifting his eyes to Nao.

  
Nao stayed by the booth, leaning against the tall side of it as something of a support. It was always surprising to hear something you’ve only thought of as a “possibility” be confirmed as a “reality”. And the “reality” of it was that Shinichi is a ghoul and Minatsuki is working with him to sell blood wine. Where before her face had been bright red during her talk with Yamori, it was now a ghostly white. The blood draining from her and leaving her cold.

  
She tried not to let her shock show as the manager, as Shinichi, took her by the elbow and pulled her closer to the wall. Nearly cornered beside the wall and the booth seat behind her as Shinichi spoke in a low, rushed voice. “Nao, while I acknowledge that you have “money problems”, I’d prefer if they didn’t show up and cause trouble,” he was saying, his eyebrows knit in consternation as he added, “I’m out a bottle of sake because of him!”

  
“He wasn’t my loan shark,” Nao quietly replied after a beat too long. Her manager is a ghoul.

  
He rolled his eyes exaggeratingly. “A boyfriend’s even worse. I don’t need your regulars thinking you’re unavailable.” Shinichi had now taken on a look of exasperation, like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with this. Nao could relate, because she now had to deal with the fact that her manager— _that her boss_ —is a ghoul. So, how was she going to handle this?

  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she clarified, her emotions hollow as she worked to deal with this situation in a logical manner. If she didn’t, she might accidently scream that he was a ghoul, and all chaos would break loose. “And before you ask, he’s not my husband, or my friend either.”

  
Shinichi was slowly losing his temper now. No doubt he had seen the intimate display from his position—or maybe Minatsuki had clued him in. Between his constant disapproval in Nao’s performance with her customers, and the display with a man who had virtually forced his way inside, Shinichi must be beyond suspicious of their supposed “non”-relationship. Put in a franker way, he didn’t believe her. “Then what the _fuck_ , Nao?!” he whisper-yelled.

  
 _What the fuck,_ she decided. 

  
Nao looked over his shoulder to the couch behind him, and then over to the group date one booth over. Slowly she leaned towards Shinichi, her eyes on the closest people. Nao cupped a hand around her mouth. “I know that you’re a ghoul,” she whispered, looking back at him in time to catch the widening of his eyes, and the small gape of his mouth, “We need to talk about the bottles.”

  
He stood as still as he possible could; staring at her as if she’d grown two heads. When he finally spoke, it was with a stammer as he tried to gaslight her. “I—Y-You’ve lost your mind,” he began, “If you need another half-day, then tak—What—What are you doing?!”

  
His shock and silence was enough of a tell for her. When he’d accused her of being crazy, Nao had turned away. It had crossed her mind for a moment that Yamori may have lied. He’d once told her that he didn’t tell boring lies. But while it may have been led to an interesting result, he wasn’t there to see it, so what would have been the point?

  
Regardless, if she was wrong, she’d have a mouthful of delicious wine. If she was right…well…the end of her nightmare would only get more realistic.

  
Nao grabbed the wine glass, the red liquid sloshing against the sides and leaving a thick red film behind. In an unhesitant move she brought it up to her lips, tilting her head back to swallow the contents.

  
Her lips barely grazed the rim before it was ripped out of her hand.

  
Silence preceded the tinkle of glass as it shattered against the hard wood floor. All eyes in the bar had turned to look at them. Nao could just barely recall the shout of her name before Shinichi had yanked the wine out of her hand.

  
She turned away from the sight of the splattered blood on the floor—a visceral image amid the broken glass—to stare down Shinichi who was staring at her wild-eyed.

  
After the long moment it took him to realize and accept that Nao knew the truth, Shinichi slowly pulled himself together. He ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing an errant cowlick before he gestured for Minatsuki at the bar. Shinichi schooled his face into a placid expression. He took a step towards Nao, placing a light hand on the small of her back and talking low into her ear.

  
“…After closing. My office.”

  
He walked away after that, smooth as silk as he stepped over the blood and the glass. Minatsuki, who had grabbed both a broom and a wet rag, stopped to consult him for a minute, shooting glances at Nao ever half-second.

  
Nao paid neither any mind after that. She vacated the corner, stepping lightly around the little crime scene that had interrupted everyone’s good time. She did not see Misa’s owl-like visage as the woman gaped at her quiet friend. Did not notice the little stares Minatsuki sent her way as she cleaned up the mess. Nao saw no one as she took her place on her loveseat and resumed her nightly routine. Nao focused on nothing but preparation for the meeting to take place in her boss’s office.


	19. Chats 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back through these chapters I'm thinking:...No wonder it take me so long to update. My chapters are so long~

Nao was uncertain if it was predetermined, or just a natural effect Yamori had. The ripples of chaos that Yamori created even after he’d left. The noise of boisterous chatter had briefly died when the glass had shattered upon the wood flooring. And while it had picked up a few seconds later, Nao could swear up and down that the snippets of conversation she heard had to do with the wine Shinichi had slapped out of her hand. The back of it still stung a dull pain with the force with which he had used.

  
On a deeper level, Nao was glad he had done it. Had saved her from the grotesque flavor of blood, and the nightmare it would have enhanced. But because of his rash action, it had sparked an unwanted display. It caused multiple eyes to seek her out and talk about her behind her back. The only saving grace of the evening was the customers who had not been present and did not ask about what had happened.

  
But because there were others who had watched, Nao now found herself surrounded by her coworkers in the locker room. Bombarded with questions about the wine, about what she had been thinking, and about what sort of nerve she had to have tried to drink the wine right in front of their boss. At their forefront, of course, was Misa. Her friend more than willing to let bygones-be-bygones and forgive Nao her mistake in favor of squeezing out some information. No matter how small said information was.

  
Nao was not claustrophobic—how else could she have stood to be stuck inside a small room for hours on end cleaning blood?—but the crush of bodies pining her to her locker was suffocating. She hadn’t planned for the extra attention her action would have caused. At most she might have assumed that a few people would ask her if she’d been able to snag a drop.

  
She tried to turn towards her locker, to shelter herself under the ploy of preparing to leave by hiding behind the locker door. But Misa kept one hand firmly on her shoulder, preventing her from being a coward.

  
“You at least got a whiff of it, right? What did it smell like?” she was asking, her voice clearer than the rest with how close she was to Nao’s face.

  
Nao floundered. What did it smell like? Like death. Like wet metal and whatever suffering the person must have gone through to lose a quart of blood!

  
“Like…wine?” she answered lamely. Nao isn’t a connoisseur of wine; she doesn’t drink it often. The most she knew about red wine was that it tasted dry and went well with red meat. She wrinkled her nose unconsciously at the way it could be compared to a ghoul’s meal. _What a disturbing thought._ She glanced at Misa.

  
The woman’s mouth had pinched downward, her eyes darting up to the ceiling for patience at the lack of expertise Nao had just displayed. “Nao, all wine does not smell the same,” Misa began, releasing her hold on Nao to cross her arms. “The smell is part of the taste. If it doesn’t smell good, then it won’t taste good.” Nao wanted to reply that she at least knew that much but could see that interrupting would be a disastrous move. One she was glad to have steered clear of as Misa grabbed hold of her upper biceps in a tight grasp. “So, think back, Nao. What could you _smell?!_ Was it fruity? Nutty? Did it seem a little acidic? Or was it sweet?” she listed off quickly before finishing in a calm voice, “Relax and take your time.”

  
The words she had said were at odds with how she had said them. Relax? Take her time? Neither was an option Misa wanted to happen. The sharp look in her eye more than said everything about how desperately she wanted to know about something she could never have. It was frightening in a way. And disturbingly powerful to know something that Misa did not.

  
Before she could get a chance to say a word, to even open her mouth, another voice penetrated the air.

  
“Last time I checked, this was a workplace, not a slumber party,” Minatsuki shouted above the din. Several eyes turned to the orange-haired barista who had just entered. Misa relaxed her grip, but did not let go, her black eyes rolling at the interruption.

  
“The last time _I_ checked, the workday ended fifteen minutes ago,” Misa retorted. She finally let go of Nao only to glare daringly at Minatsuki. “Unless there’s some secret I don’t know that includes our off-hours. In which case, Boss-man owes us back-pay.”

  
Minatsuki gave her a sneer, hand on her hip. Her mouth cracked to reply before she snapped it shut. Seeming to think better of whatever she’d been about to say, Minatsuki addressed the room instead. “Doors lock in ten minutes. Anyone still here spends the night.” Misa narrowed her eyes as the group around her dispersed. Minatsuki held her stare until she turned towards her locker.

  
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Think over what I said,” Misa instructed Nao. She nodded without saying anything, her eyes stuck to Minatsuki’s back until she too turned to her locker. Had she helped her? Or was she just annoyed by the surplus of people after so much time had passed.

  
Nao worked slowly dismantling her hostess look, taking special care to seem like she was busy. After a while the sound of idle talk dwindled, and lockers stopped slamming. A few of the girls had tapped Nao on the shoulder to remind her to tell them the next day what the wine was like. Misa had hung back, waiting as long as possible in the hopes of catching Nao alone before being dragged off by two co-workers whose names Nao could not place. Eventually the number of occupants dropped to three: Nao, Minatsuki, and Ame—the small brunette Nao had sent a customer to. Nao folded her jacket over her arm, watching the girl out of the corner of her eye as she slid her on her coat.

  
“Night, girls!” she shouted cheerily, far too energetic for both the late hour and the events that had happened thus far. Nao mumbled back in kind while Minatsuki said nothing at all. When the alley door swung shut behind Ame, the room fell silent. Incredibly still and eerily tense. Nao took out her purse, looping it over her shoulder and finally closing her locker. 

  
“Why did you do that?”

  
Nao turned to look at Minatsuki. Her jacket was bunched in her hand, but her back was to Nao. Her locker was open, displaying the usual chaotic mess inside. For a second she thought about lying to her—a reflex she had to smother since Minatsuki _had_ to know the machinations of the bar. Still, Nao was hesitant even as she confessed. “…Because he called me crazy, and I needed to force the truth.”

  
Minatsuki’s hand tightened around the coat; the other reached up to grab the side of the locker’s door. Her knuckles whitened on both, but the hand on the door seemed to be using it to keep herself steady. “And how did you know?” she asked. Minatsuki tended to force her words when she spoke—her overall inflection coming off hostile even when she asked the most mundane or benign things. Her personality as well hardly ever allowed for shift in tone, save for her own reveal of being a ghoul survivor. Now, however, her voice had turned quiet beneath the roughened façade. “How did you find out about the wine?” she asked again when Nao kept silent.

  
Hours ago, Nao had decided to keep Misa’s involvement a secret. To keep her as far removed as possible. This intent did not change even as Minatsuki slammed her locker shut. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room. Nao’s back hit the bank of lockers behind her out of surprise.

  
“Why did you tell him you _knew?!_ ” Minatsuki yelled, whirling on Nao. Her eyes were wide with anger, her nostrils flaring as her white teeth ground together in a snarl. “Are you trying to blackmail him?! Are you going to tell the CCG?”

  
Nao nearly snorted at the later question. Alerting the CCG would have opened her up to suspicion. And if that happened, they’d pry into her daily life and find out about Yamori. From there it was more than likely that the CCG would tie more imaginary strings to what had happened the day Yamori escaped. The CCG wouldn’t help her; they’d only bring her more harm than good.

  
Nao’s amusement at the absurdity must have shown on her face since Minatsuki’s seemed to darken with rage. In quick strides she crossed the small room, her hand already curled around the strap of Nao’s dress as she forced her back further against the lockers. “What is it that you want?” she ground out.

  
Nao bit her tongue, staving off both a surprised cry and a quick retort. What she wanted? Nao wanted a lot of things. She wanted to live past October, for example. She also wanted a million dollars and for her face to stop flushing every time she thought of the Yamori from her dream. What she wanted right now, however, was for Minatsuki to get out of her face.

  
“What I want?” Nao began, her lips curling into a twisted rendition of both a smile and a grimace. “I want to know who it is I’m working for, and to what extent.”

  
“The fuck does that mean?” the barista practically snarled, her grey eyes narrowing.

  
“Is everyone here a ghoul?” Nao yanked Minatsuki’s hand off her person. “The customers? The hostesses?” Minatsuki took an involuntary step back. “Is this really even a hostess bar, or just some sick, perverted place ghouls go to for dinner and entertainment? Does the manager even care about the difference?!” 

  
The accusation struck hard; Nao could see it did from the slight widening of Minatsuki’s eyes. Silence reigned between them, each of them staring down the other—Nao, waiting to see if Minatsuki would deny it, and Minatsuki, unsure of what to do. After a long moment, the woman averted her eyes.

  
“Shinichi…he isn’t like that,” she replied quietly.

  
Something tightened in Nao’s chest at the uncharacteristic softness with which Minatsuki had said his name. “If it’s not like that, then what are we to him?” Nao asked, trying to piece the puzzle together. Shinichi—the manager’s name sans any honorific. The casual way she talked about him. Her defense of a ghoul selling wine made from human blood. And now her sudden hesitation. “What is he to you?” Nao inquired instead, softer and more careful as she treaded into the newfound mystery of Minatsuki’s and Shinichi’s relationship.

  
“I’m her brother.”

  
Nao’s eyes darted over Minatsuki’s shoulder. The manager—Shinichi—stood in the doorway leading to the main room. The door was ajar behind him, his shoe caught between the wood and the frame. One of his hands was braced against the door frame, the other rested at his side. Shinichi’s shoulders were relaxed, his head tilted at an angle that suggested he was at ease. The only thing that gave away his agitation was the flint of his dark eyes.

  
“Adoptive, anyway,” he amended.

  
Nao flicked her eyes to Minatsuki, whose jaw had gone tense.

  
“So, when I said, ‘my office’, I _meant_ my office,” Shinichi continued, using his shoe to open the door wider, “Much cozier and secluded than it is in here. And I’ve got booze. Lots and lots of booze.” Nao didn’t know if he’d meant it as a statement of fact or the subtle implication that their talk was going to require booze to get through. Whichever it was, neither Nao nor Minatsuki needed prompting to detach from the spots they’d nearly been welded to. Shinichi held the door open for them, trailing behind them as Minatsuki led the procession to his office. 

  
The inside was like a reflection of the main room. Warm colors and close quarters—though the later seemed unintentional. Nao had always known that it doubled as a storeroom, but it had seemed to have gotten even more crowded. Minatsuki shuffled along the wall, hopping over unopened crates shoved against it, while Shinichi squeezed past the edge of his desk and the front of a file cabinet. Nao stayed in place, uncertain if she should take a seat on one of the crates like Minatsuki had done or stay close to the door in case she needed to make a quick escape. 

  
“So, let’s get everything straight,” Shinichi announced, plunking down in his chair, “You know that the bar sells wine made of blood.” Nao nodded, though he had gone on to ask, “Would you care to tell me how?”

  
He’d flicked his eyes to Minatsuki, confirming that she was one who kept tabs on it at all times. “I stole a bottle a couple of weeks ago,” Nao half-lied, “I jimmied open the lock when everyone in the locker room was gone, and when Minatsuki-san was in here.” Sticking to the truth made it easier to lie, even more so when all she was doing was putting the blame entirely on her shoulders.

  
Shinichi cocked his jaw, his eyes narrowing at Minatsuki. “You said all the bottles were accounted for.”

  
“I thought you took one for Hiroki-kun,” was Minatsuki’s mumbled reply. At his frown she was quick to add defensively, “It wouldn’t be the first time you took one without telling me.”

  
“Anyway,” he grumbled, his eyes returning to Nao, “You also know I’m a ghoul, correct?” She nodded, though her mind started to wonder who “Hiroki-kun” was. A friend? A lover? Nao had heard through the stream of gossip that Shinichi’s boyfriend had dumped him a few weeks back, but was he dating someone new? Nao might’ve thought to file the information away for later speculation had Shinichi not followed her confirmation with a threat. “So, I guess what I want to understand here is why you would tell me, when I could easily kill you to shut you up.”

  
Nao’s teeth snapped together as her jaw tightened.

  
“You must want to blackmail me, right?” he asked, sliding her a lazy grin as he leaned back against his chair, “Try to get money out of your little discovery rather than do the “right” thing and go to the CCG?”

  
“…no.”

  
His smile melted back into a frown. His brows drew together as he asked, “Then what’s the purpose of telling me?”

  
“Because…” _Because my human friend nearly drank blood, and this was the only way of keeping her from doing it again!_ “Because I want to know that there are other ghouls different from _him_ ,” Nao stated. She couldn’t tell if she’d spoken a lie, or unwittingly said a truth. Not _the_ truth, necessarily, but something that had bothered her for a very long time. Mainly: was the CCG right? Were _all_ ghouls _just_ monsters? Or, like humans, were they more complex than simple labels?

  
Shinichi quirked a brow. “’Him’?” He looked down, easily finding her mangled hand. “Oh. You mean the one that attacked you, right?” He raised a hand to rub at the lower half of his face, balling it up against his mouth as he murmured—half to himself— “Sheesh. That must have terrified you, what a kid did.” He lowered his hand and raised his eyes, saying to her, “If you’d seen what an adult could do, you wouldn’t even be talking to me like this. I bet you didn’t even see his kagune, right?”

  
To his credit, Shinichi had said all of this without malice or the barest hint of a smile. Neither had he shown any amusement or curiosity in his eyes beyond the slightest twinkle of…understanding?

  
“He—he didn’t really need one,” Nao rushed to say, suddenly feeling caught off guard by his genuine empathy.

  
He nodded, like this was to be expected. “That’s understandable. Ghouls are stronger than humans, even the young ones,” he explained, “The smallest amount of pressure could break your fragile necks.”

  
It occurred to Nao just then that she had never told Shinichi what had happened to her. About where she had been, or what had precisely happened, or even _who_ had attacked her. Shinichi seemed to think that her arm was the result of a hungry _child_. That a _child_ had mangled her arm and had not been strong enough—or maybe of mature thinking—to kill her outright. What Shinichi failed to realize, of course, was that the point of her attack was not to kill her and eat her, but to simply taste something that had been out of reach.

  
_Then maybe I should tell him._

  
He waved off his current train of thought. “We’ve gotten off topic,” Shinichi said, leaning forward over the desk. The light above them cast his face in shadow, lending him a fiercer look as he asked again, “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”

  
Nao looked over at Minatsuki in the corner. Orange hair waved through the air as Minatsuki quickly turned her face away. Nao wondered what was going through her mind right now. What she was thinking as her adoptive brother threatened to kill someone in her presence.

  
Rather than ask her, or answer his question, Nao slowly asked instead, “How did you know that man I was with was a ghoul?”

  
She heard a snort of laughter and returned her attention to Shinichi who had taken on a disbelieving look. “You’re kidding, right?” His mouth was skewed in a half grimace/half sneer. “I’m surprised his suit wasn’t red with how much he stank of blood! Frankly I’m even more surprised you took him.”

  
Nao forced a rueful smile before moving to sit on a crate in front of his desk. She laid her jacket across her lap as she remarked, “Yeah, Yamori-san tends to get his way a lot, regardless of what anyone says.”

  
Shinichi’s face fell instantly. His eyes widened. “…What did you say?”

  
“Yamori-san…Jason,” she reiterated, remembering the infamous name he went by. “The man who caused a scene before.”

  
Shinichi stood from his seat, nearly knocking the chair over in his rush. “How the fuck do you know his name?” he demanded.

  
Nao arched a brow before asking a rhetorical question. “You know him?” 

  
“You think I’m an idiot?” he spat, “We live this close to the Thirteenth, of _course_ I’m going to keep tabs when one of the most infamous, sadistic fucks comes over here.” Shinichi had planted his hands flat on his desk, his fingers curling against the wood. Almost to himself he said, “The aura that guy was exuding was _terrifying_. I actually thought he’d kill me if I didn’t let him in.” Shinichi caught himself quickly, his dark eyes shooting to Nao’s as he pointedly asked, “How the hell do _you_ know him?!”

  
She raised her hand, clearly displaying the webbing of scar tissue and her missing forefinger for her miniature audience. “Who do you think gave me this?”

  
His face seemed to pale; struck silent by her reveal. “…How the fuck are you still alive…?” he asked her quietly, more incredulous than curious. 

  
She scoffed. “I wouldn’t call this “living”. More just…waiting,” Nao bit out, looking down at her hand. She curled it into a loose fist and laid it in her lap, covering it with her other hand. She peeked over at Minatsuki, finding her as equally pale-faced and surprised as her brother. Adoptive brother. How did that even work? Clearing her mind, she focused on one train of thought at a time. She settled an unwavering stare on Shinichi as she clearly stated, “I don’t think Yamori would appreciate having his _prey_ poached just for knowing a little secret. And as you both know I have no intention of going to the CCG—for obvious reasons.”

  
Shinichi took a deep breath, schooling his features as he leaned back in the chair. It squeaked with the shift in weight. “Mutually assured destruction, huh?” he said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s still a dangerous gamble. What if I don’t care that you have protection?”

  
His eyes flashed to a brilliant-red on bottomless-pit-black before shifting back to normal. A minor threat and one Nao had a quick answer for.

  
“Then I’d just have to rely on the note I left in the care of a friend,” Nao shrugged, lying through her teeth, “detailing how you’re a ghoul and Minatsuki-san is selling wine made of human blood to ghoul clientele.”

  
“Clever…” he mumbled. Nao’s face broke from its serious visage to allow a small, proud smile. “Alright,” he relented, sitting up straight in his chair, “You said you wanted to know a ghoul different from Jason? Here I am. Ask away.” Shinichi had flung his hands to either side, palms out, displaying his showman side. The perfect host—friendly, fun, willing to accommodate any situation. 

  
She bit her lip, wondering what to ask first. “How does…how does it work? Your operation?” she asked, “I thought there weren’t any ghouls in One through Four.”

  
He dropped his hands into his lap. “It’s a low presence, but we’re not completely gone,” Shinichi began, “When you’re this close to headquarters it’s better to keep a low profile and act as human as possible.”

  
“Then how do you…” She’d trailed off, not sure how to phrase her question. How do you tell each other apart? How do you know who’s ghoul and who’s human?

  
“There’s a list,” Minatsuki cut in, speaking for the first time in a long while and breaking her position as observer. Nao looked over to Minatsuki as she continued to explain. “VIPs, members, regulars. Sometimes there’re are randos with money to burn, but Shinichi signals me when they come in.”

  
Nao nodded her understanding, though she still voiced her earlier question. “Is there a way to tell ghouls apart from humans?”

  
“Scent,” Shinichi replied, tapping his nose. “It’s fainter the more time we spend around humans, but it’s there. Some of the ones here still have a slight smell of blood from their last hunt.” Nao winced. He stopped, giving her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.” 

  
“Tells aside,” Minatsuki said, giving him a harsh glare, “This is just an ordinary hostess club that “happens” to serve both humans _and_ ghouls.”

  
“And the hostesses?”

  
“Human. Less conspicuous that way,” said Shinichi. 

  
Nao sighed, a weight off her mind. A troubling thought scratched at the back of her brain. Something Yamori had asked earlier that night when Minatsuki had inquired after the wine. “Are we…safe? I mean, what’s to stop an…I guess, an obsessive ghoul from stalking one of us?” It hadn’t occurred to her before while everything was happening, but now that she had a chance to think about it, what were the precautions? What kept the ghoul clientele from following their favorite hostess home and… 

  
Shinichi folded his hands atop the desk, eyeing her like he was trying to figure something out. “What’s to stop one from following you home from your other job?” he asked. Nao stared at him blankly. “Or from the convenience store, or the movies. There are no “guarantees” in this life, Nao-san. All I can do is try to deter the unhinged ones.” She bit the inside of her cheek, unhappy with the understanding that flowed through her chest. No guarantees. She understood that concept completely.

  
“That being said.” Shinichi leaned over the side of his chair, yanking open a drawer and riffling through whatever was inside. “I get that mistakes happen, and the crazier ones just don’t care about the consequences. Which is why I’m glad you got away with minimal casualties. _Physical_ ones anyway.” He straightened back up, tossing a scrap of cloth between them onto the desk. Nao froze at the sight of a familiar glove—one she had in several different colors back in her locker. The sight of the cream-colored satin glove, however, put her off. She hadn’t seen it when she’d come back to work, neither had she noticed its disappearance. Nao had completely forgotten that she’d left it in the alley near a pool of blood.

  
“Frankly I’m relieved this happened,” Shinichi was saying through the ringing of her ears, “He was causing major trouble for me.”

  
“He was a person.” Was that her talking? “He was a customer—” Why did she sound so defensive?

  
“He was a stalker harassing my employee outside her work hours,” Shinichi cut her off, voice stern and leaving no room for rebuttal. “Don’t look so surprised.” She didn’t know she was. “Asuka told me you ran into him outside the bar. _And_ I’m not an oblivious as I might appear—” This caused an abrupt snort of laughter, making the both of them cut a glance over to Minatsuki. She had a hand pressed to her mouth, silent now but her shoulders were shaking with suppressed humor. “No matter what _she_ says,” Shinichi finished with a disapproving glare. “I noticed him a few months back on the building next to ours. And…”

  
Nao’s brow furrowed in concern. “And what?”

  
“Shinichi.” Minatsuki had said it in warning, shaking her head against whatever else he’d wanted to add. Her good mood was gone, vanishing into thin air; in its place was a critical frown. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes on Minatsuki. She shook her head, knocking loose a few locks of hair from her messy bun. Just when Nao was sure that he’d keep silent, he opened his mouth. 

  
“There were a few deaths the past month. Young, brunette women.”

  
The ringing in her ears become a full bout of white noise. Her stomach flipped, and her head grew cloudy and congested. “Wha…t?” Shinichi stayed silent, though his face spoke enough to compensate for the absence of sound. Sympathetic pity pulled at his brows, upturning them while regret swirled in his eyes. Regret for what? For Nishikawa killing surrogates? Or for telling Nao at all? “Why didn’t you do anything?” she murmured, her voice scantly above a whisper.

  
“I did. I barred him from the club,” he replied readily, his voice too easy and light for Nao’s liking, “I kept him away from you.”

  
“But why didn’t you kill him first?!” she shouted; her throat was raw with unshed emotion. “Why didn’t you stop _him?!_ ” Her eyes stung. A headache sprang to life behind her temple.

  
“I’m a _ghoul_ ,” Shinichi stated sharply, raising his voice. Nao was struck silent by the volume; she’d never heard him so much as shout in all the years she had worked for him. Nao watched as he took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I’m a ghoul,” he repeated, softening his voice, “I don’t have the right to condemn another for his choices. All I can try to do is protect the people in my employ.” Shinichi settled her with a hard look, stopping any argument that might’ve passed through her lips. “Do you ask the same when Jason tears apart some hapless victim?”

  
Nao pursed her lips, her face heating with impotent anger pointed at no one. He was right, but also wrong. Nao didn’t ask Yamori to stop killing people because _what would be the point?_ He is a ghoul—it’s in his nature. Asking was like telling a mountain to move. Not to mention that it had more to do social responsibility than anything else. Nao couldn’t say for sure if ghouls had the same moral values as humans—and to be fair, it wasn’t as if humans all shared the same morals either. But Nao had been raised to speak out if something was wrong. To try to help when someone’d been hurt. It just made _sense_ that other people would value that as well. Which is why Nao turned her attention—as well as her frustration—to their silent observer, and asked Minatsuki,

  
“So why didn’t you?” Minatsuki frowned, her nose scrunching in distaste of Nao’s question. “You knew what was happening with those women—did you just not care?” Knuckles went white; Minatsuki’s lip curled in a sneer. “Is that why you dye your hair?”

  
Minatsuki stood abruptly, her hands balled into fists. “Get off your high horse, Nao!” she shouted at her, “It’s not like you have room to criticize. You’ve known for _weeks_ about the blood wine, but you chose to stay silent.” She stomped closer, glaring down at Nao with rageful grey eyes. “You’ve known a _serial killer_ —some _nutjob sadist_ —for years and never once turned him in to the CCG. What’s _your_ excuse?”

  
Nao stood, letting her coat drop to the floor. “Fear for my life,” she answered, “I don’t have the luxury of familial sentiment to keep me from getting killed.”

  
Her head jerked to the side, half her vision sparking white. A delayed bloom of pain radiated from her cheek. Minatsuki had slapped her. Nao cupped her face, her cheek warm beneath her palm as she glared in shock at Minatsuki. The woman reared her hand back to do it again.

  
“ _That’s enough!_ ” Shinichi snapped, his hand curling around Minatsuki’s wrist. He’s suddenly appeared at her side, like he’d vaulted over the desk. More than likely however was that he’d skirted around the edge closest to Minatsuki as quickly as possible when she’d slapped Nao. He looked a little winded with the effort. “Asuka, that’s enough,” he repeated, fighting against her as he forced her hand down by her side. 

  
She tsked, turning her glare to him as she yanked her hand away. With quick eyes she looked at Nao before looking away. Her stare boring holes in the door. “…sorry,” she mumbled after a tense beat. 

  
Nao didn’t believe her, but accepted it anyway, returning one in kind. What was done was done; there was no use in pointing fingers now that the man responsible was dead. There was no use in dwelling on it either. Though as Nao picked up her jacket, a small cardboard box fell out of the pocket. A present she had ignored for the past four days. Guilt itched in her chest despite her growing closure towards his murder.

  
“What’s this?” Shinichi asked, bending to retrieve it for her.

  
Nao couldn’t help the grimace. “Nishikawa. He got me a _present_.” She watched as Shinichi turned it in his hands. Whatever was inside rattled dully. One of his eyebrows raised in question. “Just throw it away. Whatever’s inside, I don’t want it.” She should have done so days ago but had not had the heart to. When Shinichi’s brow creased, Nao felt that regret very sharply.

  
“What’s wrong?”

  
Shinichi said nothing. He raised the box up to his nose, inhaling deeply. Nao dropped her hand from her face, holding it out palm up. “Give it back.”

  
“Shinichi?” Minatsuki asked, growing concerned at the lack of response. Dread started to pool in Nao’s gut the longer this silence went on. Growing suspicion had begun to cloud her mind the instant Shinichi had held the box to his nose.

  
He ignored them both, dropping the box from his face before deftly pulling apart the tie keeping the box closed.

  
“ _Give it to me,_ ” Nao commanded more sternly this time, halfway tempted to snatch the box from his hands. The other half bade her to watch, to wait to see his reaction first. It wasn’t disappointed when Shinichi pried the top off the small box and stared at the contents. The only tell that something was wrong was the continued silence, and the slight widening of his eyes. Nao let her hand fall to her side. She waited, as patiently as she could, for Shinichi to speak.

  
After what seemed like the longest time, Shinichi slowly, shakily, breathed. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed; he replaced the cover on the box.

  
“Nao,” he started quietly, “I want you to remember that he was a very sick man. That his obsession with you could have easily been someone else, and that his actions are his own.” Shinichi had her pinned with his eyes, staring at her so intently as he spoke that Nao had no choice but to take his words into consideration. “That they have _nothing_ to do with you. This was _not. Your. Fault. Promise_ me you’ll keep that in mind if you decide to open this box.”

  
Not her fault. It was something that had been troubling her since Naki had killed Nishikawa. At some level Nao knew that. That Nishikawa’s actions were his own, and that she had no say or choice over what he’d done. She’d told herself _as often as possible_ that it was Nishikawa’s choice to be in that alley. That it was _his_ fault for threatening her in the first place. But to hear it from another person relieved her far more than trying to convince herself had.

  
Shinichi held out the box for her to take. Instantly she reached for it, hesitating only when her fingers grazed the top. Whatever was inside had caused Shinichi to pause—had caused a _ghoul_ to be unsettled. Nao kept this in mind, bracing herself. She left the box in Shinichi’s hand, pulling at the cover.

  
It made a hollow popping sound as it hit the floor. There was no padding for what was inside, giving Nao the minute impression that Nishikawa had not been in the habit of gift-giving. There was not even tissue to line the box or hide the contents from view. In retrospect it was something Nao was glad of—to not touch the contents more than she already had, but at that moment she wished that there had been one more barrier to cross. One more sharp gust of wind to brace for. Or maybe there was no bracing for the sight of a pair of gore-encrusted pearl earrings.

  
Nao’s breath had become a small, shallow inhale, her heart flatlining before quickly picking up speed. A putrid smell of decay wafted up from the box, turning her stomach. Her hand shot to her face, covering her nose as she gagged on air. Her legs gave out then, depositing her harshly onto her make-shift chair. Nao vaguely heard Minatsuki shout her name through the pounding in her ears and felt a strong grasp on her shoulder keeping her upright. Nao raised a hand reassuringly even as she closed her eyes as tears stung the corners.

  
The inside of the cardboard box had been streaked in blackened blood. The only thing to suggest it was blood at all was the maroon stains on the surface of the small pearls. Beneath their insets, bits of grime stuck to the stems. Flesh that had clung to the studs as they’d been ripped from their owner. A present, he’d called it. A “gift”. Just for _her_ to prove that he loved her. Nao coughed, choking on saliva. A fit in her chest as she recalled the desperate hope in his eyes as he’d reached for the box.

  
Nao heard her name being called. Heard the concern tinging the edges. Heard the roughened sound of a broken voice. It took her a second to realize that she had gone from choking to laughing. The sound so twisted and wrong that it was barely recognizable as it emanated from her own throat.

  
“Are they even real?” she spat out through a peal of laughter. Nao wiped at her face, her eyes burning as she brushed away thick trails of tears. The corners of her lips wobbled between a broken smile and a heart-breaking frown. “Or did that poor woman die for nothing?” she choked out, her voice catching on a sob.

  
Shinichi didn’t say a word. He’d set aside the box, obscuring it from view on his cluttered desk. Minatsuki’s hand never left her shoulder, squeezing intermittently to let Nao know she was there. Nao gripped at it with her left hand, her grasp pathetic as she clung to her support.

  
Eventually the laughter died as quickly as it’d come, reverting back to hushed sobs. It all petered out into silent tears and sniffles; her shock wearing off as she came to terms with the horror behind her “gift”. A sharp ache started behind her eyes. Nao pressed the heel of her hand hard against one, relieving the pain for a bare instant. 

  
“He’s never killed for me. Yamori-san.” Nao took a shaky breath, drying her face with the back of a hand. The other dropped from Minatsuki’s grasp—she wasn’t sure when but at some point Minatsuki (or should she call her Asuka-san now that they were better acquainted?) had flipped her palm to press against Nao’s. “He’s never killed for me—personally, anyway,” she was quick to add, as though clarifying it meant anything. Ordering it or by his own hand had very little difference besides the amount of blood literally staining them. “He’s _used_ me to kill people, but he’s never actually killed _for_ me.” Her eyes had been completely focused on the ground, but now she turned them up to Shinichi. His expression hadn’t changed from a sobered countenance, his eyebrows turning the barest hint inward and his mouth curving just enough to suggest some mild concern for her being. Maybe he was still put off by her unusual reaction earlier. “It feels so much worse than being unwitting bait,” she whispered.

  
Shinichi sighed deeply, folding his arms across his chest as he sat against the edge of his desk. “Whatever guilt you have towards Nishikawa-san, I suggest you drop it. Quickly.”

  
“How can I not have guilt? Everything I’ve seen…everything that could have been prevented—”

  
“It’s unhealthy,” Minatsuki cut in, her tone sharp. She sat down on a crate beside Nao’s, her eyes like steel as she drilled them into Nao’s. “Obsessing about things you have no control over any longer— _at all_ even—will just put you in a bad headspace. Someone like Nishikawa isn’t worth your thoughts anyway.”

  
Nao bit her lip. A fleeting thought had agreed with Minatsuki before she squashed it down with a larger, more obtrusive thought: _But I’m the reason he did those things. I’m why he’s dead. I should care at least a little._

  
Shinichi saw Nao’s parade of emotions flicker over her face. Easily he picked out fear and worry. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, “What do you feel guilty over?” Nao said nothing. She wanted to stop talking. She wanted to stop thinking. She wanted this _all_ to stop. “That you _maybe_ instigated his death? That what he did was _maybe_ because of you?” Her eyes flicked to his. He continued, his voice softer and more understanding. “Or that you feel relieved that he’s dead.”

  
“Stop it,” she snapped, confirming his statement, “You’re starting to sound like Yamori-san.”

  
His mouth twitched, whether into a smile or into a frown, Nao could not tell.

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  
“I can only handle one of him, not two.”

  
Nao sighed, her shoulders slumping as she deflated. The night had become an emotional rollercoaster, complete with loops and plunges. She let her face fall into her hands, her fingers massaging her forehead. Above her, Shinichi glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, Nao-san. We can talk more if you want later,” he informed her. Nao nodded weakly, her head barely raising from her hands. She took a moment to collect herself before dropping her hands to her lap to grab her coat. Minatsuki watched her absently as Nao stood to slid it on.

  
“You going to be okay getting home?” There was enough of a space between “okay” and “getting” to let Nao know what she’d actually meant.

  
“Yeah. I…” She paused in her movements—robotic and puppet-like as if this was all routine. “I’ll be okay.” Because she was used to it, right? Minatsuki accepted the answer, though she did not look as if she believed her. Nao didn’t believe herself either. When she’d turned her back on both, Shinichi suddenly spoke up.

  
“You wouldn’t happen to still have that wine, would you?” he asked. Hope lifted the end of his inquiry. Nao killed it by turning back and stating,

  
“I gave it to a friend.” She’d meant it as a quick lie—something easy to tell without going into many details. She hadn’t expected for Shinichi to take it in a different direction.

  
“Jason?”

  
Nao bristled. “I never said he was my friend.” She’d made sure to tell him so earlier that night, explaining in various ways the variety of roles Yamori didn’t play in her life, ranging from romantic to purely circumstantial.

  
This time his mouth curved in very distinctive—if very subtle—humor. “You could’ve fooled me. How deep is your relationship anyway?” Shinichi asked, “I saw you smiling at him earlier.

  
This time Nao nearly exploded in her hasty and emphatic denial. “ _I did not smile!_ ” And because the reaction was so obvious, she reiterated in a calmer tone of voice, “I have _never_ smiled at him.”

  
Shinichi smirked, light and quick before a thought darkened his facial features. “Nao, I know…I know you might think of us as “human” now, as “people” I mean,” he stated, his frown deepening the longer he talked. “But that man…Jason…he’s still a _monster_. Even by a ghouls’ standards, he’s incredibly vicious.” He sounded like he was warning her to stay away from him. Like her association with Yamori was at all voluntary in nature. Had Shinichi forgotten that she’d called herself _prey_ before? Or was he telling her not to think of Yamori as anything different than what he is?

  
Nao knew this—knew _all_ of it. Nao had seen him do too much—had heard too much—for him to be anything but a monster. To be even remotely human was laughable. But…

  
“…He wasn’t when I met him,” Nao told Shinichi quietly, averting her eyes as she said it. Like looking at him would break this fragile resolve. “He wasn’t always a monster.”

  
“Do you even know who you’re dealing with?” Shinichi asked, his voice losing some of its careful composure the longer this went on. Nao felt the same, exhaustion creeping its way into her bones and making her do rash things.

  
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” She raised her left hand to make a statement, a point. To illustrate that she knows firsthand what kind of being Yamori is. It shocked Shinichi into weary silence. He looked like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure what it was. Minatsuki openly stared at the appendage, taking in the finer details of the pink scars. Nao lowered her hand, turning her back on both.

  
“I’m taking the wine off your next paycheck,” Shinichi suddenly said, brash and without much thought. He muttered lowly, “Be grateful you’re not fired.” Nao didn’t say anything in retort. He could have the last word if he wanted, all she wanted now was to go home and sleep off the entire night.

  
She had just stepped around her box-seat and grabbed the door handle when an errant thought crossed her mind. Nao turned her head just enough to address the both of them. “What’s…what’s happening in the Eleventh Ward?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her, “He said it was dangerous.”

  
“The presence of ghouls makes everything dangerous for humans,” was Shinichi’s answer. Deciding that he was going to be unhelpful, Nao twisted the knob and headed out. A vague pleasantry thrown over her shoulder as she let the door close behind her and walked home in lit darkness amid a thinning crowd. If she wanted a proper explanation, she’d have to go to the source.

* * *

Shinichi watched as the door slammed closed under its own hefty weight.

  
“So, what’s happening in Eleven?”

  
He let his gaze fall to his sister. His _human_ sister. Nao would be fine without him telling her, she seemed to have a little bit of security and a decent amount of sense—as much as could be expected from someone who had made friends with Friday’s Reaper. But Asuka…was Asuka. And while they may not be related by blood, they were still siblings at heart. And he wanted to protect his younger sister by giving her as much information as possible.

  
“There’s a rash of killings going on there. It might be a binge eater,” Shinichi told her, shifting his weight to properly sit on his desk. His hand nudged against the giftbox. Slight revulsion rippled through him at the sight of it. That Nishikawa would think it was at all proper to gift something still drenched in blood and viscera just spoke to his twisted mentality. “The CCG hasn’t caught on yet that they were by the same ghoul.” Shinichi picked up the box, the earrings inside rattling softly against the inside. He didn’t know if they were real or fake, if he should throw them away like Nao had asked or keep them just in case. 

  
She had money problems, maybe he could pawn them for her? Try to get something decent out of the pain Nishikawa had caused.

  
“Take the advice and don’t go there any time soon,” Shinichi instructed her. He stowed the box away in his desk, choosing to decide later.

  
“Who are the victims?”

  
“Young men mostly, but I don’t want to take the chance.” Silence followed the answer. Shinichi looked up from his desk to find Asuka staring at the door. “What’s up?”

  
Without turning her head, Asuka asked, “How dangerous is Jason?”

  
“I’ve heard he literally tears his victims apart.” He wondered if Asuka was asking out of general curiosity. He was curious what her thoughts were on the ghoul she’d served earlier that night.

  
Asuka turned her attention from the door, glaring at him as she snapped, “I’ve already read the stories. What else do you know?”

  
Not put off by her shift in temperament, Shinichi replied, “I know that he picks fights with investigators on purpose. The guy is insane.” Asuka fell silent. She looked back at the door. “You’re worried about her,” he concluded.

  
“Are you not? She called herself _prey_.” She looked back at him, her face tight with anxiety and worry. “He’s going to _kill her_ , Shinichi.”

  
Shinichi sighed, falling into his desk chair. “Don’t get involved, Asuka. Only Nao-san knows what her options are.”

  
“Like how you knew what our options were when the sicko was killing replacements?” He cut her a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. “Why _didn’t_ you do anything?” she asked.

  
Shinichi stayed silent before slowly explaining, “If I had, the Doves would know about more than just one ghoul. And then _you_ would have gotten dragged into the mess. I couldn’t talk that chance.”

  
“Oh please, you’re not that stupid.” Shinichi’s glare deepened. Asuka ignored his simmering anger, continuing. “Leaving him alone was just as dangerous; they would have caught him eventually and tracked him to us.” He pursed his lips, unable to disagree with her. “So, before that happened, why didn’t you take care of him?”

  
“I’m not going to sit here and be interrogated,” he snapped, “The guy is dead anyway! Why do you still care?!” Why is it that even in death that bastard was causing him trouble?

  
“Because as much as it irritates me to say this, Nao was sorta right,” Asuka admitted, sneering at her own words. Shinichi grimaced along with her. “Even if he was a ghoul, even if you couldn’t condemn him for his decisions, he was still causing too much of a scene. He nearly dragged _one of your employees_ into the mess he was making and brought the CCG down on us anyway.”

  
Shinichi stared at her for several moments, his finger tapping against the desktop. “He’s dead,” he stated simply, his tone cavalier, “The situation is over.”

  
Asuka narrowed her eyes. “If this happens again, I’m making you do _something._ ”

  
“ _Fine!_ ” Shinichi shouted. Asuka fell silent, though the hard look in her eye did not leave. Shinichi bit the inside of his cheek, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it did, he let the full brunt of her annoyance affect him.

  
“Now about the wine—"

  
“My god!” Shinichi exclaimed, letting his head fall back to touch the top edge of his chair.

  
“It’s a security risk!” Asuka admonished.

  
He could practically hear the underlying growl in her voice. “It’s _necessary!_ ”

  
“I get that, but having employees be able to break into the safe is a problem.”

  
“ _This night is going to kill me,_ ” he grumbled under his breath. He picked his head up only to lay it in his hand, covering half his face as he ordered, half-smothered, “Move the bottles in here for now, and stock the safe with grape wine instead. One of the pricier bottles.”

  
Asuka scoffed at the command. “That’s a band-aid solution.”

  
“ _It’ll work._ ”

  
“And if they figure out the bottles are fakes?” she asked.

  
Shinichi lifted his face from his hand, giving her the benefit of his full attention. She was still sitting on the crate of bourbon, her arms crossed, and her face squished with anger. It was a look he remembered from childhood, and one he had always found more cute than any real cause for worry. Of course, now that she wasn’t small and encumbered with baby fat, the look evicted a more visceral reaction. The preparation of an oncoming fight.

  
He was too damn tired for it. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said, his voice emotionless save for the careless nature with which he had delivered it.

  
Her face relaxed into a mild grimace, her arms unfolding to shrug on her coat. “How you run this place is scarier than an actual ghoul,” Asuka commented while standing.

  
“If you don’t wanna work here, I’m sure there are plenty of other places who’ll love that sunshine personality of yours!” he exaggerated.

  
She turned around, yanking the door open. “I’m going home.”

  
He watched her for a second before impulsively shouting, “Dye your hair back; you look like a traffic cone!”

  
“Fuck you!” she tossed over her shoulder, slamming the door shut and leaving Shinichi alone in his office. The resounding insult brought a close to a turbulent night.


	20. Dissatisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nao cuts off a loose thread, and eats curry with wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I COMPLETELY forgot to upload these two! I am SO sorry. I'm working on ch. 22 right now. I WILL get it up next week, or my name isn't [REDACTED]! In other news (completely unrelated to the chapter I'm working on and have rewritten four times) how many fics do I have to read to write a decent NSFW scene? Asking for a friend.

Nao stared at the desktop screen, reviewing a superior’s schedule and making adjustments where necessary. Her fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard while around her voices murmured and phones rang. There were two things Nao had learned working at the office. One: the outside world had no effect here. Their private lives had little influence on the work they produced, and even if it did it was played off by others as a bit of pointless small talk. And two: time went by very fast.

Two weeks had gone by since her private chat with Minatsuki and Shinichi, and very little had happened. The night following their talk, Minatsuki had taken Nao aside and relayed Shinichi’s idea about the wine. She didn’t say as much, but Nao felt sure the plan would work. Misa would never give up on the wine until she’d gotten a mouthful, and Nao had no doubt that she would try to steal another bottle. She was especially certain when Misa had taken the liberty of patching things up with Nao—begrudgingly accepting her constant assurance that she had been unable to gather the merest whiff of wine before it had shattered upon the floor. Misa wasn’t the type to back down easily. Neither did she give up until she’d gotten what she wanted.

It made Nao uneasy not knowing when Misa would make another attempt.

Saving her work, Nao sent the file off, closing out of the window. Hidden behind it was a gossip-rag website. The article staring at her had a gruesome headline and a hazy picture of police tape quartering off an intersection. It wasn’t very recent, but it had happened well after Nishikawa had died. Nao clicked out of it before someone could look over her shoulder.

When Shinichi had let slip Nishikawa’s activities, Nao had made many attempts to keep herself from researching. She had tried to distract herself and make herself too busy to investigate who those women were, and to whom the pearl earrings had belonged. She’d managed to do this all of two days before her will had broken and she’d looked up recent attacks in the Third Ward. There weren’t many cases to look through—the Ward was one of four that had a low ratio of ghouls in them—and there were no photos of the victims. All Nao had to go on were names and ages. Her jaw clenched a little each time she found a possible match.

She’d kept it up for nearly a week before deciding Shinichi and Minatsuki were right. She should just forget about Nishikawa and let go of any lingering doubt. It was a difficult thing to do, however, then he kept popping up in her dreams. Even worse was that her nightmares had changed as well, evolving. Now a woman screaming over and over ‘ _it should have been you!’_ played in the background before she was cut off on a guttural choking sound. After a while Nao had grown numb towards the nightmares, accepting that her internal guilt would remain until it eventually died down and she had successfully moved past it. They were already becoming less frequent, the most recent one being several days ago.

Nao pulled up the managing director’s schedule for the next week, flipping through the notepad beside her until she’d found her scrawled notes. Her body worked on autopilot while her mind started to wander. Nothing had changed in the last two weeks. Twelve days had passed by quickly in a boring succession of reports, schedules, and droning philanderers. It felt like no time had passed. It felt like an eternity since she’d last seen Yamori.

Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. Yamori hadn’t changed in her dreams. Still tortured, still flickering between his past and present self.

Still naked and covered in blood.

Nao felt her face warm. She had half a mind to slap herself for just thinking about it. It was bad enough seeing it involuntarily, she didn’t need to think about it. Unbidden, her mind brought up the image of Yamori kneeling over her, whispering softly against her skin before kissing her.

There was always a moment before her mouth filled with blood. A slim second where it felt like a kiss in a normal situation that didn’t have anything to do with guilt or death or anything terrible. A momentary sensation of a man’s lips slanting over hers.

Nao ran a finger over her lips, recalling a kiss she’d had months ago that had never been repeated. The inside of her lip had felt sore for days. She still remembered the heady taste of coffee and the sharp undertone of metal. His tongue twinning with hers inside her mouth. His body’s warmth enveloping her. In the moment she had been afraid, confused. But now…

Nao flinched, a barely concealed yelp escaping her lips as something freezing cold touched the back of her neck. Condensation stuck to her skin and dripped down her spine, leaving an icy trail. Nao’s hand left her lips to clap over the cold spot, rubbing some warmth into her startled flesh. A water pipe had probably started leaking above her. She looked up to locate the water stain in the ceiling before she called maintenance. What she found instead was the smiling visage of Matsuru looking down at her.

She immediately felt her irritation spike.

Nao swiveled around in her seat; her brows drawing down in uncontained annoyance. He didn’t seem to notice—but when had he ever when the only time he seemed to was when someone was ignoring him? His eyes went half-lidded, his smile softening into something warm and flirty. “You looked a little red, so I thought I’d…cool you down.” He gestured with the can of soda, though he’d wiggled his eyebrows for extra emphasis. She glanced down at the drink. Take the soda, and she took his offer. Is that what he would think?

“I don’t need it,” she told him, swiveling back around to her computer, her fingers easily finding the keyboard as her eyes refocused on the screen. She heard a reluctant sigh behind her. Matsuru tossed the can in the garbage by her desk before sliding his hands onto her shoulders. Nao’s eyes left the screen to dart around the room, checking to make sure no one was watching them.

“C’mon Kohana-chan, it’s been _weeks_ since we’ve gone out,” he murmured lowly, just low enough for only her to hear. He ducked low to her ear. “It’s been weeks since we’ve done _other_ things, too.” His hands left her shoulders to slide under arms. When she felt his fingers brush against the curves of her breasts, Nao nearly made a scene scrambling to get out of her chair. Several pairs of eyes looked over at her in curiosity. Matsuru had a mischievous grin on his face as he watched a blush spread across the bridge of her nose.

“ _Stairwell. Now!”_ Nao hissed under her breath, glaring at him murderously before walking away. She did not wait for him to follow as she left the secretarial office. What the hell was he _doing?!_ There were _people_ around. Her _coworkers_ were _right there!_ The door to the stairwell nearly hit the wall with how forcefully Nao pushed it. She let it swing shut of its own accord, her nails digging into her palms as she angrily paced from one side of the landing to the other. Seconds passed without Matsuru’s appearance. Rather than cooling down, her rage began to boil.

That wasn’t in the rules. That wasn’t what they did. He was friendly, sure, but to be outright flirty? To touch her when other people were present? They’d been clear when they started hooking up. They’d made sure it was never anything more than a romp in the sheets between friends—no matter how cheap it made Nao feel once it was over. They’d made rules to keep everything only between them; no one else had to know. No one else _could_ know. Even when he’d press her up against the breakroom vending machine and stir her up before leaving her cold, even when he’d slide his hand beneath the waistband of her skirt in the stairwell, there was never a real chance someone would catch them. He’d made absolutely sure of that.

Nao slowed. Her brows pinched down as ice slowly dripped down the back of her skull as a slow realization washed over her. _Is he…embarrassed of me?_

Before she could give it a proper thought, Matsuru slipped inside the stairwell, shutting the door carefully behind him. Nao’s thought was pushed to the back of her mind as her earlier anger flared. “What the hell was that out there?!” she demanded.

One corner of his lip lifted in a smile. “A little taste of what’s to come.” He crossed over to her in two quick strides. Before Nao could blink, he slid his hand into her hair, palming the back of her head and pulling her close to him. His lips briefly touched hers before she planted her hands on his chest and roughly pushed him back.

“You said we’d keep this private.”

He raised a brow at her before his quizzical expression melted into an easy grin. “Trust me, no one was looking at us.” He ducked his head down to capture her lips again. This time was Nao was quicker in sidestepping his advance, her hand stayed on his chest, keeping him at an arm’s length. His smile cracked the smallest bit at the continued refusal. “I said it’s _fine,_ ” he insisted.

Nao stayed adamant. “That’s not the point! We made rules for this.” Nao bit the inside of her cheek when she added, “You said no one needed to know about us.” Or maybe he just didn’t want people to know he was sleeping with _her_.

Matsuru scoffed. “Everyone flirts; it doesn’t mean anything.

He reached for her again, his hand barely touching her waist before Nao slapped it away. “Don’t touch me!” she said. Matsuru’s face scrunched up in disappointment and mild astonishment. He wasn’t used to being so adamantly rejected—not to the point that someone would actually fling his hand away. Nao ran a hand through her hair, using the smoothing motion to calm herself down a little. This wasn’t working. He wasn’t _listening_ to her.

“I want to go back to just being friends.”

“We _are_ friends,” Matsuru insisted, his grin sliding back in place. The better to tempt her with, she supposed.

Nao leveled an unamused look at him. “Friends who _don’t_ have sex with each other,” she clarified.

A moment of silence followed. Accompanied by Matsuru’s smile dripping down into a disappointed frown. That single fourteen-second interval of silence was when Nao knew she truly _had_ been deluding herself into thinking they were friends. It was when she knew for sure that she’d spent the last two years as a cheap source of entertainment. One that he apparently didn’t want to let go of since the first words out of his mouth were:

“Are you seeing someone?”

Nao folded her arms across her chest. “That’s not the reason why.”

His mouth slanted in a half-smile. “So, you are then,” he decided.

Her lip curled at his insistence. Did he think he was a God among men? That the only reason a woman would refuse to continue to sleep with him was because she was sleeping with someone else? The audacity that he could only reason this as being her fault rather than his was astonishing to say the least. Not to mention infuriating.

“Touch me,” Nao commanded suddenly.

Matsuru narrowed his eyes. “You just said—"

She held out her left hand, her palm facing up for him. “ _Touch me,_ ” she repeated, staring at him as he glanced between her face and her injury. The indentations of Yamori’s teeth scraped along the inside of her wrist, leading up to the surgical scaring the doctors had left when they’d removed the index knuckle from her hand. She’d found it disturbing at first, before coming to terms with it. It was ugly, but it was something she had to live with. It was also something she wanted other people to live with, too. _This_ was her normal. They didn’t have to find it pretty, but they at least had to accept it as being part of her. When his face grew tight and withdrawn—when he slid his eyes away from her person completely—Nao let her hand fall to her side. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He looked back at her quickly, his mouth opening. Nao was out of the stairwell before he’d even said a single syllable.

|13|

Time moves at different speeds, and for Nao the day went by very fast after her confrontation with Matsuru. He hadn’t tried to talk to her again afterwards, keeping himself confined to the upper floors where he worked. Nao stayed at her desk, her frustration ebbing and expanding every so often until the time to go home finally came.

The cold air outside helped to cool her head, numbing her outer extremities enough that her thoughts were pulled away from Matsuru and towards getting home quickly. When she returned, however, when her body warmed up and she reached a lull in her cooking, those thoughts returned. Everything that he had ever done—especially the things that he had not done—came back to her with stunning clarity. A brand-new explanation giving light to her relationship with Matsuru.

Nao was one among many—of that she had no illusions or doubts. A name on a list he kept in his head, a notch on his bed post. The salesgirl on fifth, the receptionist in the lobby, the HR rep, the manager, the secretary, the other secretary, the freak…

Her chest tightened at that.

He’d never said it. He’d probably never thought it. But the hidden agreement they had, the secret rendezvous’, the overly conscious way he put his hands on her. Actively avoiding her left side, shying away from her hand. The look of disgusted curiosity he thought she’d never seen.

“ _Shit!_ ” Nao pulled her hand away from the pot she had been stirring—or should have been stirring had she not gotten caught up in memory lane and let her hand drift too close to the metal rim. She stepped over to the sink, yanked the faucet to cold and held her hand under the stream. A red line traced along the side of her hand; the freezing water numbed the area while her fingers pricked and froze. When she turned the water off, her skin started to heat again—an active pain she knew how to ignore while she turned back to her dinner. She scrapped the bottom of the pot and along the sides, making sure the contents didn’t burn before she turned off the stove and removed the pot.

Why was she letting herself think about useless things that no longer mattered? Why was she giving him rent-free use of her headspace?

 _Because even if he was an asshole, I still liked him at least a little,_ Nao reminded herself. She left her dinner where it sat cooling off to grab a cold compress from her med kit.

_Knock-kn-knock._

Nao froze in her tracks, barely a step taken inside her bedroom. Unease fluttered through her. There were very few possibilities as to who it could be, and considering she’d already paid Kazuo the week before, she had little doubt as to who it was. Slowly she stepped up to the door, reluctance flooding her every move. Nao hadn’t seen Yamori since that night two weeks ago and hadn’t honestly given much thought to his “offer”. Seeing him now felt like she’d be pushed into a decision she wasn’t equipped to make.

It was one she was spared from, however, when she glanced through her door’s peephole and found—not a solid wall of muscle encased in a pristine suit—but the exuberant expression of her best friend.

Surprise was etched into every feature of her face as she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Nao could barely get a word out before Misa started talking. Her entire being was animated, she was practically buzzing with excitement. “Guess which lucky bitches are gonna drink super mysterious, forbidden wine?” she asked, her grin practically splitting her face.

“You didn’t,” Nao said, her tone near emotionless and saved only by the surprise still coloring her face.

Misa scoffed. “I already told you I’m Houdini, Na-chan,” she reminded Nao—as if Nao didn’t already know. “Let me in already, it’s freaking freezing out here.”

Nao hastily stepped aside, opening the door wider for her. “Can I take something?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at the thick padding of Misa’s coat and the long scarf wrapped doubly around her throat. Misa toed off her boots, nearly flinging herself forward as she simultaneously started to unzip her coat. Trapped under one arm she held a dark green bottle; around its neck she held a white-knuckled grip.

Misa glared back at her. “Ah-ah! I’m not letting you near this bottle after what happened last time,” she nearly snarled. Her socks slid against the floor; one arm freed itself from a coat sleeve. “Just grab some glasses and a corkscrew and let’s break open this bad boy!”

“What if _you_ drop it?” Nao asked, locking the door behind her before bending down to right Misa’s boots. She heard a soft thud as Misa set the bottle on the table. Nao looked up just in time to catch Misa draping her coat over the back of a chair, her scarf quickly following.

“Then my dignity will die on this floor because I will _lick it off the ground_ if I have to. I’m not spending another minute not knowing what this tastes like.” She said all of this with a fierce expression on her face, her jaw set in determination to further illustrate her serious intent to follow through on her words. Nao found that she was half-way tempted to knock the bottle over just to see if Misa would actually do it.

Instead, she asked, “How did you get it? It’s barely seven—the bar should be open right now.” The last time she had tried to steal a bottle, Misa had had the cover of darkness and barely any witnesses. Right now, the bar would be crawling with hostesses and customers. Not to mention Minatsuki’s keen eye. And despite knowing that the wine was fake—or rather, for a human, very, very real—she’d never drop the pretense of being controlling. So, if Misa had stolen the bottle, it must have been because Minatsuki let her have an opening.

Nao’s suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Misa said, “I stole it yesterday while Barista Bitch went to restock.” Her frown transformed into a grin as she continued to relay her story. “You should have seen me! In and out. Quick with no mess and no one the wiser—well, I mean,” she stopped, her smile pinching into a grimace, “Kako-chan saw me, but I promised her a taste later. So, we gotta leave at least half—what’s with your hand?”

Nao froze, her fingers in her hair as she brushed a lock behind her ear. Her eyes went to her left hand, wondering if her fingers had locked into a strange position again. It looked normal. “Did you burn it?” Misa clarified. Nao pushed her hair back before examining her right hand. It’d gotten much redder in the last few minutes. And now that it was getting attention, the heat from her burn flared up with a vengeance. Nao scowled down at it.

“Dinner mishap,” she explained, “I made curry yesterday; I was reheating it on the stove.”

“Go get something on that, it looks painful.”

Nao walked past her to her bathroom. Over her shoulder she told Misa, “Grab a plate, I’ll be right back.”

“While you’re gone, get out of those clothes!” Misa shouted, loud enough for Nao to hear her, “You know how much I hate your office wear. So… _drab_ and boring.” Nao rolled her eyes at her bathroom mirror. Her reflection cracked a grin as she applied aloe to her burn and wrapped a piece of gauze around her hand.

“Have you _seen_ an office,” Nao called back, “That’s the standard.”

“Standards are _dull_.”

Nao unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. “Does that mean you have none?” she asked jokingly, dragging on a pair of sleep pants. She pulled on a long-sleeve shirt, balling up her blouse and skirt and tossing them in her laundry basket.

“Slut-shaming? That’s so high-school.”

Nao walked back into the main room in time to catch Misa dipping a spoon into the curry to taste. “Rice is in the pressure cooker.”

“Thanks.”

Nao scrounged around her cupboards looking for wine glasses while Misa helped herself to the food. Two enormous scoops of rice and a ladle-full of curry later, Nao and Misa sat at the table. Steam wafted off Misa’s plate as she twisted the corkscrew into the bottle. She had the thing locked between her thighs, her eyebrows scrunching together in concentration as she worked to uncork the wine. Nao shoveled a spoonful of rice into her mouth, watching the show. After a few minutes of working at the stubborn cork, Nao joked, “My God am I thirsty.”

“Shut up,” Misa growled, her teeth gritted as she tried to pull the cork out.

Before Nao could ask if she needed help, a loud _pop!_ shot through the air. Misa let out a whoop, quickly setting aside the corkscrew to grab a wine glass. A trickle of worry went through Nao’s gut. Briefly it had crossed her mind that Misa might have somehow grabbed the right bottle. That what she was pouring right now was blood and not fermented grape juice. The label had told her otherwise—nowhere on it had it said _Château_ —but the fear remained.

“I thought you worked tonight?” Nao asked, reaching across the table for the corkscrew. She sniffed at the cork still impaled on the end. Sourness filled her nose, bitter fruit and a cloying sweetness underlying the smell. Wet metal and rot did not cling to the cork, lightening Nao’s worry.

“I called in sick. Said I have cramps,” Misa replied. She stopped pouring and set the bottle on the table, nudging it towards Nao. “Boss gets really flustered about female problems.”

Nao took the bottle, wondering idly if it was because Shinichi was a man, or if ghouls were like sharks and blood. A mere whiff and they were set to instant kill-mode. The thought put a damper on her mood until she realized that if it were true there would have been a lot more murders over the centuries.

“Mmm~ This even _smells_ good!” Nao heard Misa purr. She poured herself a moderate amount while across from her Misa sipped delicately at the wine with all the finesse of a connoisseur. Nao took a swallow full, the bittersweet tang coating her tongue and leaving a dry feeling in her mouth. Talk after that revolved around the wine. Its taste, its smell, the notes—and whatever else Nao did not really understand about the proper tasting of a wine. As far as wine went with Nao, so long as it didn’t taste terrible it was a good bottle. Misa had often remarked over the years that the finer things were wasted on her—though that didn’t stop the woman from gifting Nao pricy bottles of vodka for her birthday.

By the time conversation shifted to a different topic, Misa was on her second glass and Nao was clearing the last grain of rice from her plate.

“How’s your day going, by the way?” Misa asked before quickly adding, “I mean, _before_ I came and gifted you delicious wine.”

Nao set her utensils on her empty plate, her eyes drifting to the ceiling and the wall and as she thought over the question. How was it? _Emotional_.

“I broke things off with Matsuru-san,” Nao reported.

Misa stared at her over the rim of her glass. “And are we loving or hating that decision?” she asked cautiously, a slim eyebrow arched in question.

Nao grabbed her empty glass and raised it high. “Good-fucking-riddance!” she announced.

Misa grinned as she grabbed the bottle of wine from between them and poured Nao another glass. “Not seeing stars anymore, I take it?”

“If I ever saw them at all,” Nao said, waving a hand when the liquid sloshed past her limit. Misa set the bottle back down, leaning back in her seat with an amused expression on her face. “And because he’s an asshole.”

“A complete and total one,” Misa parroted back.

Nao tilted the glass to her lips, gulping down half the contents before she went on to say, “You know what he said when I told him I was through?” Misa nodded for her to go on. “He asked me if there was someone else.”

Misa sat up straight, interest flickering across her face. “ _Is_ there someone else?”

Briefly Yamori flashed through her mind. Nao scowled, her mood darkening. Unwilling to confirm or deny Misa’s inquiry, Nao said instead, “I couldn’t even get it across to him that _he_ was the problem.”

Whether Misa noticed the slight hesitation to answer, or the blatant ignoring of her question, Nao could not tell as she hummed in agreement and took another hit off her wine. Nao followed suit, drinking the remainder of her glass down to the dregs. She slumped back heavily in her chair, her fingers twirling the glass stem as she glared at the table. “Did I have to get on my knees and call him my king just to get a good orgasm?” she asked, her question more to the air and to herself than to the woman seated across from her.

Regardless of the direction it was intended, Misa replied cheekily, “If you’re on your knees, it should have been implied that you expected to come.” Nao heard the inflection behind it but chose to ignore it. Matsuru’s dick in her mouth wasn’t really an image she wanted to think about right now. Especially since the wine was starting to affect her in a negative way. Already her mind was starting to drift. Her tongue felt both heavy and loose. “That guy can go fuck himself if he thinks he can get away with being selfish,” she heard Misa say.

Nao was silent at that, her eyes fixated on the empty glass in her hand. On the empty plate on the table. On the half-empty bottle between them. Why was everything so… _empty_.

Misa observed her, her black eyes piercing and undeterred by Nao’s shift in mood. “Hey,” she started softly, “I forgot to ask you something a couple weeks ago.” Nao didn’t budge, continuing to wonder what else was empty. Matsuru’s promises. The inside of her fridge. Her bank accounts. Misa continued. “Who was that guy back then?” Nao slowly shifted her gaze back to Misa, her brow quirking up in inquiry. “You looked like you knew him,” Misa clarified, glad that she had gotten Nao’s attention at last, “You know, the one who looks like a mobster?”

Sudden understanding flashed through Nao. Swallowing thickly, she answered in as casual a tone as she could. “He’s, um…He’s just the…he’s the guy—” She snapped her mouth shut. Casual nothing, she was floundering like a fish! She finally answered all in a rush, “He’s the guy who collects the payments!” After a pregnant pause Nao added in a murmur, “He’s no one special.”

Misa smirked at her. “Sure.” Nao scowled, grabbing the bottle of wine and pouring another glassful. She didn’t bring it to her lips. “So, is _he_ the someone else?”

“He’s not the reason I dumped Matsuru-san, if that’s what you’re asking,” Nao stated, her tone unwavering and sure. “I did that for my own reasons.” Misa sipped at her wine, her trimmed brows drawn down. Nao stared back at her.

“But _is_ he someone else?” she asked instead, her voice gentle compared to her earlier interrogative tone.

Nao’s eyes darted away from her, boring into the table before drifting back to her glass. “He…he made me an offer that night. To give me what Matsuru-san wasn’t,” she confessed. Misa narrowed her eyes at that.

“Let me guess,” she nearly snarled, “’Fuck me and I’ll take a couple thousand Yen off your debt’?”

Nao was quick to negate her line of thinking. “No! He didn’t offer an exchange, he just… _offered_.” Misa deflated, her pitch in anger softening to a dull glower.

“I still don’t like that your debt collector is propositioning you. _Especially_ one that looks like they could kill you with a flick of their wrist.” Nao didn’t doubt that Yamori very likely _could_. “How do _you_ feel about it?”

Truthfully Nao hadn’t given it much thought. Taken separately her answers varied, but put together? Did she want sex? Yes, with an orgasm that _actually_ made her see stars. But the thought of sex with _Yamori_ sent a shiver down her spine and a spike through her gut. He terrified her and caused her insurmountable anxiety, but she was comfortable enough to be alone with him and have a halfway decent conversation. It was weird.

Nao didn’t let her thoughts drift too far into _actually thinking_ about engaging in such an intimate act with the same person who had eaten part of her. “The relationship we have…I don’t want it to be sexual,” she told Misa, “I don’t even _want_ the relationship we have.”

“Just turn him down then. Once the debt is gone, you won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Misa said. She tipped her glass up to lick at the remaining drops of wine.

 _How true those words are,_ Nao thought grimly. She watched Misa silently as she placed the empty glass by her plate and pulled out her phone. She sighed, weightily. “It’s already nine? I gotta get going before the next train leaves,” she reported, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her coat before twisting the cork off the screw. “There should be enough in here for Kako-chan, right?” Misa held the bottle up for Nao’s perusal while she simultaneously wedged the cork back into the neck. The wine sloshed around inside; there looked to be enough for one last glass. Nao nodded.

Misa set the re-corked bottle on the table as she stood, her movements just slightly jarred as she removed her coat from the chair and slid it on. “Good wine and good food with good friends. That’s what life’s about, right?” Misa chattered nonsensically. Nao hummed in agreement, not so much listening as she was trying to seem present as she rested her head in her palm and watched Misa get ready to leave.

“Text me when you get home, so I know you didn’t fall down somewhere,” Nao commented as she witnessed the comedic stylings of Misa trying to tug her boots on. A hand shot out to wave her off, but Nao suspected it had more to do with keeping her balance as she stomped the stubborn footwear on.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow, Na-chan,” Misa shouted back, a touch too loudly as she cradled the near-empty bottle of wine in one arm and shut the door behind her with the other. The slamming door echoed around the room for a short moment before Nao was left in silence. She stayed where she sat for a while longer, closing her eyes as the alcohol in her system made its way sluggishly through her brain, knocking loose her inhibitions and whispering to her to drink a little more. To worry a little less.

Nao opened her eyes and looked to the full glass of wine set before her. Luscious red liquid beckoning her to let the world slip away. It was what she wanted most nights anyway, right? To forget for a little while, to let herself ignore all the things that kept her up at night. Slowly Nao reached for the glass stem.

In a rush that left her dizzy and teetering, Nao stood and stalked over to the sink. With barely a moment to think she tipped the glass and let the wine slip down the drain. When the last drop fell from the glass, Nao set it aside. She leaned heavily against the countertop, her left arm screaming in protest of the weight being forced upon it. Her right hand flared its own disapproval, her slight burn igniting. She welcomed the pain, letting it clear her mind and steady her enough so she could get through the clean-up.

Dishes clattered against one another, silverware scrapping against plates while pots clashed and dinged against the sides of the sink. Whatever remained of what she had made was placed back in plastic containers and stored in the fridge. She left the dishes to dry in the rack, cleared the table of residual debris, and left the room entirely once she was finished.

Later, after she had brushed her teeth and wound a dry piece of gauze around her hand, she laid in bed. Tucked under the covers with the top edge drawn up to her chin, staring up at the ceiling and unable to sleep. Physically, the day may have been like any other, but psychologically it had taken its toll. Nao had finally forced a cut between herself and Matsuru, bringing an end to their arrangement. Venting her frustrations to Misa had been uplifting, the weights upon her mind being discarded one-by-one until all that remained was a single, baffling question.

“How do you feel about it”, her friend had asked. When Misa had said that, Nao could not find the words. How do you tell someone that you know a ghoul? That you had somehow created a prolonged acquaintanceship with the same ghoul who had given you a traumatic experience? How do you tell that person that the same ghoul had suggested a tryst to help you get over your sexual starvation? Nao could only interpret the question, not as “it” but as “him”. “How do you feel about _him_.” And the truth of it was that Nao no longer knew how to answer that question.

Before she had known him—when she had just met him, even—he had meant nothing to her. A body in a chair waiting to meet an unavoidable death. ‘Nothing’ had eventually changed to ‘pity’. ‘Pity’ changed to ‘empathy’. The day the incident occurred, all of it was washed away in a single tidal wave of horror and pain. Those weeks had turned him into a monster and changed her empathy into fear.

Nao had lived with that fear for three years. She had grown accustomed to seeing Yamori as nothing but the monster he truly was and had easily believed it when she’d met him again.

But…

Small things eluded her. Toying with her spoke to a very feline aspect of his personality. A predatory cat, a beast that enjoyed the sadism. Nao might have been able to play off the kiss as well as being a part of the act. But why would he suggest sleeping with her?

_Why would a ghoul be interested in that way in a human?_

Nao slipped the covers over her head, turning onto her stomach. A cat does not mate with a mouse. A human does not lay with beasts. And a ghoul does not fuck a human.

_Or do they…?_

They looked like each other. They acted like each other. The only difference separating the two species was a dietary need and a strange internal organ. So why wouldn’t they have sex with each other?

Nao squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase from her mind such ideas. Whether they did, could, or have already, it didn’t matter to her in the slightest. Sex with a ghoul was one thing—for all Nao knew it may have already happened—but sex with Yamori was another thing completely. If the stories from the Thirteenth Ward were true—if they were not, at all, exaggerated—then it may be the last thing she does on Earth. Nao had many regrets in her life, but she would not have that be listed among them. She would not give into her own urges for a short thrill.

Especially to Yamori’s smug satisfaction.


	21. Melancholy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nao gets advise from her boss and meets up with a psychopath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone told me this chapter "wasn't my best". Any thoughts? I didn't think it bothered me, but then I fell into writer's block for three months.

Nao stared down at the check in her hand, her brows knitting in confusion.

“Are you paying me in advance?” she asked, looking up from the printed amount to her boss, Shinichi. He hadn’t looked at her when he’d handed over the check, his focus barely parting from the checkbook and the timesheets spread out on his desk. Shinichi’s attention was still on it as he replied,

“No.”

Nao looked at the check again. “It’s nearly double what I usually get. And I didn’t pull in any new customers,” Nao stated.

Shinichi paused in the middle of his writing, finally glancing up at her. He was silent a long moment. “The amount is correct, Kohana-san,” he said firmly. Nao stared at him, her silence a request for a proper explanation. Shinichi’s jaw clenched, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I sold the earrings Nishikawa gave you.” Nao felt a frown pull at the corners of her lips. Before she could so much as open her mouth, Shinichi issued a command. “Let this be the last time we talk about him.” Nao swallowed, heaviness collecting in her chest as she hesitantly nodded. Suddenly the paper in her hands felt like lead. As if it were sopping-wet with blood. “Send the next girl in on your way out,” he said dismissively, his attention already back on the checkbook.

Reflexively her feet turned to go before a thought occurred to her. She froze, half-way turned toward the door. Nao looked back at him. “May I ask you a question?” Nao asked.

His eyebrow twitched. Shinichi looked up at her, barely lifting his head and making it look like he was glaring at her from beneath his eyelashes. “Is it insulting?”

Depending on how he took the question, maybe it would be. Rather than say this aloud, Nao answered instead, “It’s invasive.” He raised his chin to regard her properly, his brown eyes darting over her face momentarily before he nodded for her to continue. “Were any of the people you’ve dated human?”

Shinichi was silent for a long while. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he asked, “Why do you want to know?”

The night before, Nao had been caught in a philosophical quandary, debating the lines of humanity between humans and ghouls. The more she had gone over their similarities and differences, the more convinced she had become with an uneasy revelation: that the only true line separating humans from ghouls was diet and organs. Which would lead them away from being truly monstrous and closer to that of humans. A dangerous thought to have since it made her sound like a ghoul-sympathizer. ‘Ghouls are humans with a monstrous appetite’ is a line that would get her sent to a prison cell.

When she was in high-school she hadn’t thought much of ghouls, preferring to think of them more as story-book monsters than actual threats. Back then they were just creatures that existed in congested metropolitan areas; creatures that lived in sewers and wore nothing but rags and came up to eat people. What a stark difference it was to know they wore three-piece suits. It was strange how far she had come from her past self to seeing them not as soulless monsters, but as actual complex beings.

Nao wasn’t sure whether she should be fascinated or horrified at the discovery she was making thanks to Yamori. Which brought her back to the reason why she was still in Shinichi’s office rather than hurrying home to sleep at an appropriate hour. Nao could only get so far with a man who gave out information only when he felt like it. Even then he had said himself that he didn’t tell boring lies—a statement that didn’t stop him from telling interesting ones. Not to mention that given the specific question she had in mind, Yamori was more than likely to bullshit her.

Shinichi was her only other option.

“I’m just curious,” Nao replied after a heavy beat.

Shinichi tapped the end of his pen against the desk, weighing his answer before he said carefully, “Yes. A few women and men were.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Unlike your stalker, I have control over my appetite,” he scoffed. “Why do you want to know anyway? Curious if they’re still alive?”

Nao opened her mouth to deny his line of thinking; faltering before a single sound could come out. Now that he brought it up, she felt a twinge of concern. “I just wanted to know how close the line comes between eating and sex,” she said.

“Are those mutually exclusive?” he asked, his mouth skewing into a half-smile. At her frown Shinichi’s smile faltered. Covering up his poor joke, he went on to say, “What’s a “ghoul” anyway, Kohana-san? Are we a separate species, or are we a subset of the human race? What do you think about ghouls? Why do we look, walk and talk just like you?”

“To…blend?” Nao answered, but it felt weak. Plenty of other predators blended in with their surroundings, but Nao could not fathom why—with how strong and vicious they could be—why ghouls would need to bother.

Well. Until the CCG was created and gave humans a fighting chance.

But predators did not resemble their prey. Snakes didn’t look like mice, they looked like foliage. And if ghouls didn’t look like their surroundings, then why did they look like humans? Why did they resemble humans so closely? “Maybe you’re just cannibals,” Nao murmured, her statement nothing more than an outspoken musing to herself. She couldn’t fully think of Yamori as human, though most of his proclivities spoke to the sadistic nature of humans. Was he always this vicious or was it a result of his trauma?

Shinichi rolled his eyes; his pen tapping against the tabletop, a background noise to their conversation. “Well I’m not anyway.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Don’t you eat humans?”

“Not a cannibal of humans, Kohana-san. A cannibal of _other ghouls_.” Her eyes widened in surprise. She asked him to elaborate further. “It’s fucking disgusting. Something that only happens in areas that are rife with ghouls and very little prey—no offense.” It was an afterthought, but Nao didn’t really care. Humans were prey, she’d known this for years. “I heard your friend Jason does it a lot.”

“He’s not my friend,” Nao answered immediately before lapsing into silence.

“If that’s all you wanted to know, you can leave now,” Shinichi informed her.

“You didn’t answer if they’re still alive,” she remarked, shelving the new information she had received for later. Tucked right between “Stuff she didn’t know about ghouls” and “Shit she didn’t know about Yamori”. Shinichi was becoming a wealth of information she didn’t have to jump through hoops for. She prayed she wouldn’t take too much advantage of this, or that some form of payment would come later.

Shinichi gave her a snide little smile, like the answer should be obvious. “They always look for the boyfriend first, Kohana-san,” he told her, “Why would I risk myself like that?”

She did not know how to take his candor on the subject. He didn’t kill his girlfriends and boyfriends because it would have made him look suspicious. Which meant that whatever sentiment he held toward humans stopped at his sister.

“I’ll send the next girl in,” Nao said quietly, nodding her thanks and leaving his office.

Strewn around the barroom sitting on couches and barstools, women in shimmering gowns and flirty dresses waited their turn to get their bi-monthly payment. Nao blindly pointed at the nearest one before making a beeline for the locker room. Payday was private, and while the rates were the same for everyone, no one had the same number of customers or visits per week. It was meant to keep each other from getting jealous, but Nao wondered if the reason she’d been called in first was because of the abnormal amount and Shinichi wanting to be done with the inevitable question it came with as quickly as possible.

In the empty locker room Nao slipped the check into her purse, binding it securely with a paper clip to a stack of crumpled sticky notes.

That was not how she had planned that conversation. In her mind, hours earlier in the office breakroom, she had imagined it going several different ways. Nao groaned, the cavity of her locker echoing the nonsense sound around her ears. She supposed she could take this as her answer. It was not entirely satisfying, but Nao let it lie. Given his familial relationship with Minatsuki and his views on humans and ghouls, Shinichi could just be considered an outlier. It was just one ghoul’s opinion against hundreds of others. And while his reasons for letting them live were self-serving at best, at least they were still living.

Nao arched her back, unzipping her dress and letting it pool around her ankles. Goosebumps rose along her arms. Nao hastily shrugged on her blouse, her fingers quickly buttoning the fabric. She shook out her skirt, smoothing the fold lines before she stepped into the circle of the waistband. She zipped it up against her hip before bending to retrieve the discarded dress.

Behind her the door to the bar swung open and a few women stepped inside. More were going to come in soon—those who had either gotten paid or wanted to leave directly after. Nao hung her dress on a free hanger and stepped out of her heels, placing the pair in a cubby along the wall. She needed to leave before it got crowded; already the sound of chatter was beginning to rise in volume. Slipping on her office flats, Nao grabbed her purse and coat and quickly escaped from the locker room into the alley.

Biting her tongue against the cold, Nao slipped her coat on, her hands trying and failing to do up the zipper as they shook. Beside her, people strode by in singles and pairs, unencumbered by the weather as they walked past Nao’s desperate display. She hated winter. Its only merit was the softly falling snow and the precious warmth people sought because of it.

The teeth finally catching, Nao zipped her coat up to her chin and burrowed half her face behind the collar. She took out her phone, shooting Misa a quick text that she was heading out without her. She next glanced at the top of her screen to check the time and instead caught the flash of a notification.

Nao stared at the flashing red blip, knowing it couldn’t possibly be from Misa in that short amount of time.

After Yamori’s visit to the bar he hadn’t shown his face afterwards. He hadn’t called to remind her of his offer. He hadn’t pressured her for a decision in the last two weeks. Nao had taken his absence for granted and let the inappropriateness of their last encounter slide to the back of her mind. Until Misa had dredged it up with her valid questions and Matsuru had hammered home how much of a selfish prick he truly was.

Doubting that she could put off any chat or encounter for much longer, Nao tapped to view the message.

_Follow Naki._

Nao felt a wrinkle form between her eyebrows. Was Naki watching her again?

“What took ya so long to come out?”

Nao started, her eyes darting around her for the source of the voice only to find the alley utterly deserted.

“…Naki?”

Something fell from the rooftop of the neighboring building, landing with a dull thud into a low crouch at the far end of the alley. The lingering stain of Nishikawa’s blood momentarily tricked her into believing the body had splattered upon the ground. Nao watched mutely as the dark lump straightened into the form of a man. She waited as the man walked over to her, stepping into the small circle of light emitting from the lamp beside the bar’s alley door and transforming into a familiar face from a horrible night.

“Your job was over a long time ago!” he groused; his lip curled in agitation of her perceived lateness.

Nao stared at him a while longer before slowly snapping her phone shut. “I was getting my check, Naki-san,” she replied.

He clicked his tongue. “Just call me ‘Naki’,” he corrected her. “What’re ya getting checked for?” he asked.

Nao raised a brow at him, wondering how serious he was being. When his expression didn’t change, she reworded her previous statement. “I was getting my _paycheck_ ,” she clarified.

Naki’s mouth twisted in irritation. “So, why’d it take so long?”

Nao frowned. It was neither his business how long it had taken, or what she had been doing. Not to mention that if he had a problem with waiting for her to finish up, he shouldn’t have come in the first place. She dreaded what she would ask him next.

“What does Yamori-san want, Naki-s—Naki.” Each word made her feel more and more exhausted. The lack of formality felt wrong in her mouth, like she had too many teeth. She pulled her purse in front of her, undoing the latch to place her phone inside. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hand fidget next to his leg. Sneaking a glance, she caught his thumb rub the top of his middle finger.

“Big Bro wants to see you,” he told her simply.

“So why didn’t he come himself?”

_Snap!_

Nao flinched at the small sound, her eyes fixed on the middle finger now pressed to the palm of his hand, tight beneath his unforgiving thumb. “’Cause he wants to see you in Thirteen,” Naki replied.

Nao silently debated not going with him—her own version of saying ‘ _fuck you’_ to Yamori—but she’d probably end up getting forced to go anyway. Any outcome she could possibly come up with all pointed in the same direction anyway: Not getting much sleep and having to meet Yamori. Nao’s lip curled in a facsimile of a snarl. Even when he wasn’t here, Yamori still got his way.

Snapping her purse closed, Nao turned towards the street entrance. “Let’s hurry. We should be able to make the next train,” she said, motioning over her shoulder for Naki to follow. Nao wanted to leave the alley as soon as possible before any of her coworkers came out. Seeing her meet with a strange man in an alley wasn’t the sort of thing Nao wanted spread about the bar. It would be even worse if Misa happened to see. Nao didn’t like lying to her friend, and she especially didn’t like piling other lies on top of them. Keeping her private life separate from her social life was the only way to keep things from getting complicated.

Naki followed along after her, his hands shoved into the pockets of a short black overcoat. Nao copied him, lamenting not stopping at a convenience store hours earlier to pick up pocket warmers. Her pace was hurried, her shoulders hunched against the wind as she led the way to the train station. Naki kept pace with her easily, his expression near bored the few times Nao looked back at him.

“Can’t we just walk there?” Naki whined when the station came into view.

“I’m not walking to the Thirteenth Ward in the dark,” Nao explained, “Plus, this is faster.”

_Walking back though…_

There were few trains running anymore at this hour, and even fewer ran to the Thirteenth Ward. The “next” train was, in fact, the _last_ train. There would be no others running back to the Third Ward until morning and even if there was, Nao doubted that Yamori—for all his love of screwing with her—would haul her all the way into a ghoul-infested Ward for a five-minute conversation. She’d be lucky if she could find a taxi yet tonight.

Nao bought the tickets for the last train, handing the money begrudgingly over to the ticket dispenser. The station was quiet with very few people standing on the platform. Nao and Naki had little time to wait before the overhead speakers announced the incoming train, instructing the few people there to stay behind the line. She stayed as far from the line as Naki would allow, his impatience bleeding through the hand wrapped around her wrist. He wanted to get as close as possible. Nao conceded a few steps to make the grip on her arm less obvious. Naki probably thought she was itching to make a run for it given how skittish she was being. As if she’d take that sort of chance against a ghoul. As if the few attempts she had taken thus far hadn’t ended with laughable results.

And yet…

 _If I jump off before the doors close, Naki won’t be able to chase after me,_ Nao planned. Bright lights lit up the rails, painting a trail for the train to follow as it sped past before slowing down. _But he’ll probably come to my apartment and make me walk all the way there._ Nao let Naki drag her into an empty car. The silence between them as they rode to the Thirteenth was dense and uncomfortable. She’d hugged her purse the whole ride there, staring out the windows while Naki glanced at advertisements lining the car. Occasionally he’d ask her what a certain word meant. How another word was said and mispronouncing it immediately after.

Nao took it all in stride until the train swept into the Thirteenth Ward station. Rather than pull her up by her wrist, Naki migrated to the doors before they had opened, swaying with the train’s momentum. Nao followed after him. Out of the train. Out of the station. Onto streets less traveled after midnight and ones not frequented by visitors playing around at gambling dens and titty bars.

If Nao had to describe it, she’d say she was going into the sketchy situations that parents warned their teenage daughters away from. Could she even remember her own parents warning her? They must have, at least once. About not following strangers and bad men. Not going into places she was unfamiliar with. Being all alone, with no one knowing where she was or who she was meeting. Nao thought about the stories she’d hear, the people who had told them, that all started with: ‘she went alone to meet a man…’ and ended with bad things happening. Death and rape, drugs and assault. Nightmares come alive that left people changed either physically or mentally.

To her, Naki was a stranger. She’d only ever met him once and while he had saved her, the experience had been less than ideal, casting a shadow over his good deed. Yamori was, without a doubt, a bad man. Nao was following a stranger to meet a bad man. If her mother knew, she’d never hear the end of it, but the woman would be a hypocrite. As Naki led her, Nao thought about what Misa had said about Yamori’s offer. After her father died, Nao had told very few in her circle of friends the circumstances he had left them in. Only Misa knew that loan-sharking yakuza were involved. _No one_ knew the extent they’d gone to make ends meet—what her mother had done to keep the interest reasonable. It was frightening how close Misa had been without even venturing a guess. All she had to do was replace a couple names.

“Big Bro’s up there,” Naki said, stopping so abruptly that Nao nearly ran into him. Nao looked up at the building he pointed to. It was too dark to see much of the street they were on, much less the buildings that occupied it in the hazy orange light of the streetlamps. But the building Naki had brought her to was more visible than Nao would have liked. It had probably been abandoned for the last twenty years, but the building itself looked like it had been falling into disrepair for thirty. Twelve stories of crumbling stone rose before her, its prior profession as a hotel evident only by the faded lettering from a sign above its door. Every window covering the front of the building was either boarded up or shattered. Graffiti edged the bottom like a lace cuff; profanity, tags, and illegible imagery the only decoration the building had seen in recent years.

Nao swallowed, wondering if while the hotel had been abandoned by its owners, it had not been by its occupants.

“Are ya gonna get up there or not?” Naki asked, raising a brow at her reluctancy as she stayed planted beside him.

Nao worried her bottom lip. She shouldn’t go in. Everything about this place stank of warning. A neon sign like the ones several blocks away screaming at her that this was a bad situation. But it was a warning Nao had no choice but to ignore.

“Which floor?”

|13|

Nao could scarcely feel the tip of her nose as she buried her face deeper within her coat collar, partially shielding her face as she peeked over the edge. The glow from her phone lit up the stairwell, illuminating the small space for seconds at a time before the screen went dark. Nao shoved it back into her purse, not wanting to see the moment the timer hit thirty. Burying her hands beneath her armpits, Nao paced uselessly in an effort to keep her blood moving and maintain a façade of warmth.

More than twenty minutes ago Nao had opened the roof access door and found the rooftop completely empty. When Yamori had failed to show up after the first five minutes, Nao had opted to wait in the shelter of the stairwell. Without the added abuse from the wind, the cold was just a solid thing leeching at her from the stone walls.

Sometime before then she had trekked up the twelve flights of stairs in this derelict hotel. By the fifth floor she had lost her stamina and taken a breather. On the ninth she had tip-toed past a woman lying on the stairs, her black hair limp and tangled. A rubber tie cut off the circulation through her bicep. Her sunken eyes were tightly shut, ignorant of the person edging past her as soft moans and high-pitched whimpers left her mouth. Twenty minutes later and still the noises continued, floating up to her in the dark, both irritating and simultaneously making her envious. The phantasy lover in that woman’s veins caused more pleasure than Matsuru had the last time they’d had sex.

Nao stopped pacing after a half-dozen turns, swaying with dizziness. Pacing in a stairwell landing was as ineffective as it was small. She glanced at the heavy metal door. Time continued to stretch on and on and yet Yamori failed to show his face. If he was going to be late, he could have just called. If this was some joke to see what he could make her do, he was losing his touch. All-in-all, Nao was getting fed up with whatever game this was.

 _Just another power play,_ Nao grumbled inwardly, _A stupid joke between him and Naki._

But what if it wasn’t? What if Naki had brought her too early, or Yamori was just running late?

_Maybe I’ll see him walking in._

On impulse, Nao pushed open the door. Cold air blasted her face, rushing into the stairwell to fill the gaps around her. Her hair buffeted, obscuring her eyes, and trying to crawl inside her mouth. Nao brushed it away, combing back the loose strands. The wind nipped at her nylon-covered legs, chilling her blood, and stealing body heat.

It left her numb.

It made her feel alert.

Keeping her arms crossed over her chest, Nao walked to the ledge. The edge of the building had a lip of brickwork maybe six inches tall—though in some places the brick had either been weathered away or fallen. Nao got as close as she dared, carefully peering over the crumbling stone to the sidewalk below. It was easier to see from above than it had been down below. No one was on the street in either direction she looked, and even the one person she thought would be there was no longer present. Naki had probably left the moment she’d stepped through the door—his orders fulfilled, and his presence no longer required.

Leaving her completely and utterly alone in the most dangerous Ward in Tokyo.

_Fuck._

Nao eased back from the ledge, her jaw clenching in agitation and a myriad of other smaller emotions. She needed to keep calm and think rationally. She needed to remind herself of the kind of person Yamori is.

Violent. Manipulative. _Possessive._

He’d never leave her alone in a Ward known for its high population of ghouls. Yamori would never let his prey be stolen by someone else. She turned her eyes to the overcast sky above, trying to take solace in that singular fact. It was a depressing fact, but a fact nonetheless and it calmed her down—if only infinitesimally.

A hint of metal washed over her tongue. She’d bitten the inside of her cheek too hard. Nao ran the tip of her tongue over the small cut, messaging away the sting of pain. Maybe she was just deluding herself. Maybe he’d just wanted to see what she would do. She lowered her eyes to the Ward spread out before her.

The building wasn’t very tall, but it towered just enough to make an impression. For all its horror stories, for all the blood that soaked its back-alleys, the Ward was filled with light. Neon blues and purples and reds highlighting the outlines of skyscrapers and marking each individual window upon the black cutouts of buildings. It was a beautiful veneer. A glamourous cover. A pristine suit on a serial killer.

It looked too pretty to be anything but dangerous.

“Where are you?” she murmured shifting her weight from one foot to the other. By now it had to be after one. She might as well skip the effort of finding a taxi and just look for a cheap hotel.

_Krrch_

Nao’s ears pricked at the scrape of stone, a shiver wiggling its way up the back of her skull. Steel wrapped around her waist before she could look for the source. Another beam of steel snaked over her arms, pinning them to her sides as she started to thrash against the body behind her. Panic filled her body in a white-hot rush when she was lifted off her feet. Heels striking against her assailant’s knees, Nao wriggled violently in his grasp. Unencumbered by her violent movements, Yamori stepped up onto the ledge.

All the fight went out of Nao when she looked down and saw empty space against her feet. The sidewalk down below looked impossibly far away. Fear replaced her panic. The hands she had been using to push away Yamori’s arms turned into claws. The skin of Yamori’s wrist tore under her nails, securing his arm around her waist. Warm breath washed over her neck. “You weren’t getting any ideas, were you, Nao-chan?” he asked, “If this is how you want to die, I’ll help you out.”

Nao couldn’t answer, her mind too busy picturing a bright red spot on the pavement down below. Slowly, she turned her face away from the imaginary imagery. “Please put me back on the roof,” she stated, her words clear and carefully chosen. Yamori was slow to acquiesce to her, taking his sweet time as he stepped backward off the ledge. He walked backwards a few steps, Nao’s shoes hovering over the ground until he set her down a safe distance away. As soon as Yamori’s hold on her loosened, Nao collapsed, her legs like jelly as her fear-induced stoicism vanished, leaving her body shaking. Nao’s breaths came out in short, rapid pants, white as a cloud in the cold air. Her back reclined against Yamori’s legs, craving solidity—her hand curled around his shoe.

“You’re not leaving this world unless it’s by my hand,” Yamori told her harshly, nearly growling his displeasure. Nao tilted her head back against his thigh, staring up at him as he glared down.

“…It’d be more instant than anything you have planned for me,” she replied. Nao hadn’t been thinking about jumping, but why alleviate his suspicions that suicide was preferable to murder? “What took you so long to get here?”

His face broke, splintering from the frown. His smile stretched wide, gleaming sickeningly in the light from the Ward and causing a wave of gooseflesh to race over her arms. “I got a little… _distracted._ ”

Nao didn’t care to know by what. Anything that made her want to put ten feet of space between herself and Yamori was better left unsaid. She kept her lips pursed tight to refrain from asking any follow-ups. Yamori’s peaked excitement simmered down in the presence of her disturbed countenance, reverting to the usual blithe amusement he seemed to take out of life in general. “How long are you going to sit there shaking?” He gave her hand a nudge, reminding her of the death grip she had on him. She ripped her hand away from his shoe and quickly got to her feet, her legs still rubber-like and unreliable as she worked to stabilize herself.

His laugh was a low, rough sound, vibrating from his chest across the empty space and right through her bones. Yamori stepped around her, beside her. Her head still light with adrenaline, Nao looked over at him. Over his white clothes he wore a short black overcoat, not dissimilar from Naki’s. A pinprick of irrational irritation speared her that he looked to be warmer than she was in her snow coat. Biting back a comment on his lack of weather-appropriate clothing—not that he seemed to need it—Nao asked, “Why am I here?” She knew why.

He didn’t look at her, his eyes trained on the skyline like hers had been before he’d shown up and ruined the moment. “Have you made a decision?”

Her mouth bent into a grimace. “The time to ask me that would have been when you were dangling me off a building,” she remarked, her eyes still on him. “I might have said yes.”

“Maybe,” he replied, “So what’s your answer?” Yamori glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The iris looked more of a vibrant red than it usually did, the accidental result of either the reflecting city lights or his arousal. She didn’t dare let her eyes dart down to the front of his pants where the semi-hard shape of him rested. The wriggling of her ass against his cock exciting him as much as her fear did. Nao thanked God that the cold could disguise the redness of her face. She could still practically feel the curve of it pressed against her.

“If I say ‘yes’, you’ll think that I’m only doing it to seduce you into letting me live,” Nao said. Her arms crossed over her chest, her stance both protective and a way to ward off the cold. She should look into buying thicker stockings. “And if I say ‘no’, you’ll just assume I can’t separate love from sex.”

His mouth curled in a sneer. “Don’t tell me you actually love him.” His voice was half-disdain and half-unbelievable humor. As if the thought of loving Matsuru was ridiculous. Considering Yamori had been able to smell the women Matsuru had hooked up with on her, he wasn’t far off.

“I liked him,” Nao stated defensively, “which was more than enough for me. And I trusted him—” _Even though I shouldn’t have._ “—Which is more than I can say for you.”

Yamori’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “I don’t trust you,” Nao went on, her voice getting progressively softer and less antagonistic, “Not in that way. I trust that I’ll be able to leave this Ward alive without having other ghouls tear me apart, but that’s the extent. I don’t trust you enough to be that vulnerable.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn’t say anything to refute it. “So, it’s a no then.” He looked away from her, back towards the sky-rises.

Nao raised a brow at his disappointment. “Why do you want to sleep with me?” she asked on impulse, “Not to sell myself short, but don’t you have other options?”

“Aren’t you already selling yourself short, fucking around with a guy like that.” Yamori’s tone was conversational, even if his words were insulting.

“…That’s my own decision.” He probably wouldn’t believe her if she said that she’d broken up with Matsuru. Beyond that, what she did in her love life was no business of his. “Answer the question or I’m leaving.” When he kept silent, Nao counted to thirty in her head before turning to leave. Yamori’s arm shot out, grabbing her left bicep in a hold that was neither gentle nor hard. Nao glanced down at it before looking at his face expectantly.

“I owe you for what you did for me.”

It wasn’t something she expected to hear. It wasn’t a reason anyone would accept. Nao’s eyebrows turned down in anger, her mouth a scowl as she seethed, “I’m not so pathetic that I need someone to owe me something to get laid.” She tried to shake off his hand to no avail. “It doesn’t make me happy that that’s the only reason you’d do so.”

Yamori turned his face to her then. His eyes hard as he sneered derisively, “Would you rather I fall to my knees and profess my love for you?” Nao narrowed her eyes at him. His grip tightened the slightest bit. “Or that I find you so attractive that I want to see you squirming naked below me? What did lover boy say to make you spread your legs, Nao-chan?”

Yamori wasn’t actually curious. He was just trying to get a rise out of her. Nao cut her anger down, smoothing it until it became contempt. “He saw me as a woman.” His lip twitched, but in either direction Nao couldn’t tell. Keeping her tone even, Nao countered, “You asked me if I saw you as a man. I do. But what do you see me as? Prey? A female of my species? Or a woman?”

He smirked, his demeaner dismissive of her query. “To me, everyone is prey.”

It was a short and simple sentence, meant to put an end to this topic. So, Nao let him end it, and started a new one. After a short moment to let his answer sink in, Nao said—nearly offhandedly— “…My boss told me you’re a cannibal. Someone like you who sees nothing but prey? You’d cannibalize your own mother.”

Yamori’s anger was instantaneous. There was no melting of his features; his smile did not sag, and his eyes did not dim from their amusement. It was as if Nao had flipped a switch from mirthful to enraged. Nao could have blinked and missed the movement it took for his lips to draw back into a vicious snarl. His eyes widened, flashing to black and red, as his nostrils flared. Yamori’s hold on her arm tightened painfully. He drew her to him, yanking on her shoulder jarringly as he turned his body to face her fully. Yamori held Nao against him by her upper arm, his face close to hers as he threatened her.

“ _Don’t you DARE talk about my mother!_ ”

Nao stared up at him in stunned silence. Her scorn forgotten as adrenaline burned her body and chilled her blood. Her face scrunched in a mixture of fear, surprise, and concern, her forehead wrinkling as her brows drew together. Had she touched a sore spot?

As fast as his anger was to boil, after a seething minute Yamori began to cool. His snarl shrunk and disappeared, twisting into a bitter grimace. The air around them lost its electric charge, lowering the chance for a spark to ignite another bout of rage. His shoulders loosened their tension, his body following suit slowly after and gently shifting away the image of massiveness he had so very quickly built up. Nao watched as he lost his rage very slowly, though his anger remained in the hand he still had around her arm. His eyes were the last to dissipate, the black receding from around the iris while he clicked his tongue and released her arm with a light shove, like he was tossing her away.

Nao stumbled back a step but held her ground, continuing to stare at Yamori as he turned his body away from her. A dull throbbing started in her arm as blood rushed back to her outer extremities. Her old injury pulsed in time with her heart, reawakening familiar aches and pains in dull flashes. Nao didn’t pay it much mind—she was used to this much—and continued to stare at Yamori, her gaze fixed on the back of his head.

Yamori didn’t yell at her often—she tried to give him no cause to—so when he suddenly had this outburst, Nao could not help but be the slightest bit curious. She had caused offense, that much was clear. And his mother seemed to be important to him given his steadfast defense of her. Nao decided to start with an apology as an icebreaker. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, hesitant and soft in case he still retained some flames of rage.

He made no inclination or some other gesture that he had either heard or acknowledged her. Nao decided to probe the boundaries with a light question.

“…Did you lose her?”

His fingers twitched. Nao’s eyes darted to them.

“Were you young?” she continued, watching him carefully. Yamori kept silent. His hands curled into fists by his sides.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Nao stepped closer to him, all the while aware of how close the ledge was. She reached out an unsteady hand to touch his elbow. “Yakumo.” No honorific. Over-familiar. A name he no longer went by in favor of his aliases. Yamori turned his face just enough to glare down at her with one bright red eye. He shifted away the slightest bit, so she was no longer touching him. Her fingertips a scant centimeter away from his overcoat.

Nao pulled her hand back, letting it drop to her side. Yamori didn’t give unless he was receiving. Nao pulled her eyes from his, reflecting him as they stood side-by-side watching the neon glow of the Ward. “When I was eighteen…my dad stepped in front of a train,” she began slowly.

He was in the city begging her mother’s older brother for a loan.

“He died five minutes before I got there.”

If she hadn’t stopped with Misa and Sacha to check out a new poster for a popular male idol group, Nao would have seen her father standing too close to the track.

“I lied to the police and told them he had slipped and fallen.”

It was raining. The station wasn’t well covered, so it had been plausible for her father to have slipped while walking towards the track. So many people had been around, but no one had noticed anything until the blood had splashed onto the platform.

Nao clenched her jaw, turning her eyes away from the bright lights stinging them. “I didn’t do it to preserve his pride or his memory,” she confessed.

What pride did he have anyway? To kill himself because he couldn’t afford to keep up his business? To get the chance to leave all his worries with his wife and daughter? Did her father even know the type of people he had gone to the first time for money? Didn’t he assume what people like that would do to two women? To his _high school daughter?_ Or did he suspect they would turn her self-sacrificing mother into their own personal whore when they couldn’t scrape together the full payment and decided ignorance in death was better.

Her poor mother still thought his death was an accident. Her friends suspected but had the decency not to say anything. Nao had only confided in Misa that her father had committed suicide, but she’d never told her why she’d lied. She’d never told anyone why she had been so adamant that her father’s death be ruled an accident.

“I lied because his life insurance policy didn’t cover suicide, and we needed the money to pay off the loans.”

Maybe Yamori was right when he’d said she missed the money more than the men who had died. She could give herself the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t know what her father’s death had done to them. That the last year of her high school life, when she should have been playing with her friends and enjoying herself, had been spent working every hour she could spare. That she’d spent too many nights of those first four years until she’d moved to the Twenty-Third Ward listening to the grunts and groans of those men who came to collect the money. The squeaking of her parents’ mattress as their bed was defiled, and the sobs of her mother after they’d taken what they wanted and left—clear as a bell though the thin wall separating their bedrooms—stuck in her head so many years later.

But she’d traded his death for money not even a day after he’d died. She had cannibalized her own father and spat out his bones.

Nao was so lost to her cruel reminiscing that she missed the softened gaze Yamori had on her sorrowful face. ‘Soft’ was a difficult word to attribute to someone as callous and brutal as Yamori. So, it was better to say that he had become ‘less’. His stare had turned ‘less’ hostile. He had become ‘less’ antagonistic towards her after her confession. Had the events leading up to her reveal been more light-hearted, Yamori might have mocked her with this information. That he had been right in his teasing that she valued money more than people.

But their conversation to that point had not been light-hearted, so it did not warrant a light-hearted response. In the hard gaze Nao had, Yamori could see the broken edges of her story. The shards that cut her most that she refused to bring to light. Before she died, Yamori was determined to drag those shards out just to watch her bleed.

But the mood wasn’t right. It set his teeth on edge.

His only interest that night was mocking her, but now the moment was ruined. Regardless of the way she’d answered, Yamori would have taunted her relentlessly. If she’d said no, he could have twisted her words and turned her into a mixture of enraged and embarrassed. If she’d said yes, he could have stripped her down and still denied her the one thing she wanted from her lover boy. But now the night had soured, and Yamori was no longer having fun at her expense.

Still. While he was already in this mood, he might as well share in this rare moment of grief.

“…She was weak.”

Nao kept her eyes locked on the skyline, though Yamori could tell he had her undivided attention in the slight pricking of her ear and subtle shift on her tense face. “When you’re weak, you are trampled. You are overrun. You are violated, and you are afflicted.” How many times had Yamori heard that son of a bitch Interrogator say those words as he’d sliced and hammered and stabbed and sawed his flesh away? How many times had Yamori said it as he deluded himself into believing he was the one torturing the Interrogator?

_Snap!_

Nao looked down at Yamori’s bent index finger before looking up at his face. He stared back at her with a blank expression unbefitting of what he’d said. Yamori was unusually expressive, even when he hid behind an amused smile. Nao had expected a deeper frown, or a slight sadness in his eyes, but all he gave her was a face clear of emotion and a melancholic air. She wondered if she could take the feeling he gave off as a sign of his grief. His expressionless face gave her the impression that his mother had died a very long time ago.

Nao let the topic end there rather than push her luck. After his outburst, she felt like she was standing on thin ice. This honesty, this…sorrow shared between them was tenuous and unlikely to last long. Nao didn’t question him further or make any comment on what he’d told her.

She silently turned her eyes away to search through her purse for her phone.

They hadn’t talked long—or at least that’s how it felt—but the time had continued to whittle away, inching closer and closer to two in the morning. Inwardly Nao sighed. She could call for a taxi, but what would be the point? The time it would take to get back to the Third Ward would be wasted, and Nao didn’t feel up to taking that journey. She’d rather put the money towards finding a place to sleep.

“Yamori,” Nao said, “Is there a place near here I can sleep tonight? As cheap as possible would be preferred.”

Just like that his mood lifted and his smile came back. Small. Mischievous. Hinting at a prank he was about to pull. Nao hated it. She preferred it. She liked it better when he did predictable things.

“Yeah. There’s a few places,” he replied. Yamori turned away from the ledge, crooking his finger as he beckoned her to follow. It wasn’t the same as the dark feeling she usually got when something bad was about to happen, but a squirming feeling started in her chest hinted at something. Less like a heavy hand pressed against her breastbone, and more of a small pinch at the center of her chest. She rubbed at it with a worried expression marring her face as she followed Yamori off the roof and out of the building. Back onto the streets of the Thirteenth Ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will do my damndest (sp?) to get the nest chapter up next week! It'll be NSFW so that'll be something to look forward to.


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